


To Give You a Hand to Hold

by gettingaphdinlarry



Series: To Give You a Hand to Hold: Doc and Monster [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - Military, Angst, Best Friends, Emotional Sex, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Marine Corps, Navy, OT4, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, because you're missing the whole point of sex with someone you love, casual sex as a coping mechanism, except their relationship is not really fucked up, if you care about who bottoms or tops, love doesn't cure PTSD in real life or in this fic, maybe skip reading this, servicemen are not vilified, the explicit scenes are all Harry and Louis, there is no cheating, very brief suicide reference about an OMC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:14:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7307077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gettingaphdinlarry/pseuds/gettingaphdinlarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he spoke again, Harry’s voice was low. “Ever think of how many birthdays they don’t get?”</p><p>Louis avoided Harry’s eyes. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“Martinez was what, nineteen? Missed a good sixty of them.” Harry took the last of his cake and passed the plate to Louis. “Figure sixty missed birthdays each. Just on our side. How many is that?”</p><p>Louis used the edge of his fork to scrape frosting off the plate. “Never thought about it.”</p><p>“What would your shrink say?”</p><p>“‘Focus on the positive.’”</p><p>Harry ran a hand over his head and scratched the back of his neck. “How’s that working?” </p><p>::<br/>Marine Louis Tomlinson is medically discharged when an IED explodes in Afghanistan. Months later, he's reunited Stateside with his Navy medic Harry Styles. The two of them shelter each other even as they refuse to admit they're in the throes of PTSD, until one night nearly destroys them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic involves issues related to PTSD and war, there are no explicit war scenes, and there are no major character deaths. Beyond that, I am not going to tag this for triggers because it will give away major plots points.
> 
> This is not a fic that does disaster for disaster's sake; PTSD is extremely personal to me and the feedback I've gotten tells me I've handled the subject well. If you're interested in reading more about why I wrote about PTSD, or are nervous about reading this fic, please read this post where [I explain why I tackled this](http://gettingaphdinlarry.tumblr.com/post/149222045586/gettingaphdinlarry-to-give-you-a-hand-to). If you'd like to ask about specific triggers, please message me on Tumblr, and I'll answer any questions you have.
> 
> The title is based on a song by MIKA called “Heroes.” While it's absolutely not necessary to know the song to enjoy the fic, you can listen to both the [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8c0ks2NeXlk) and MIKA's [commentary](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmaMfyD0HfY) online if you'd like. Also, @[Holdmyhalo](http://holdmyhalo.tumblr.com/) created a [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/2255frvadu2qqj5homna2husq/playlist/0o4VhS1rkNwqldRjoKMMqD) playlist to go with this fic. It's great, so please give it a listen!
> 
> I have a lot of people to thank. First, thank you @[Icanhazzalou](http://icanhazzalou.tumblr.com/) and @[Quietasides](http://quietasides.tumblr.com/) for letting me use you as sounding boards as I figured out my plot and characters. Thank you to @[Spandeedie](http://spandeedie.tumblr.com) and @[A-writerwrites](http://a-writerwrites.tumblr.com) for being betas and cheerleaders. And thank you @[Myownsparknow](http://myownsparknow.tumblr.com/) for betareading, pushing me with “one more sentence,” and falling in love with these men as much as I did.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

**To Give You a Hand to Hold**

And you know heroes aren't meant to survive  
So much harder to love when alive  
Walk with the devil in your head  
You would think you were better off dead

And you don't understand  
Why no one else can see  
Your blood on me  
And my blood on you  
But to make you bleed  
The only thing I wouldn't do

Where can you go?  
We fight we earn  
We never learn  
And through it all  
The hero falls

I wish there was a way  
To give you a hand to hold  
Cause you don't have to die in your glory  
Die to never grow old

—“Heroes” by MIKA

 

**March 2014**

“Harry?” Liam waited a second and glanced at Louis. Louis tilted his head to look at Harry and shrugged one shoulder. Liam leaned forward, rapped on the coffee table between them, and cleared his throat. “Harry?”

“Hey, Styles,” Louis barked, nudging Harry with his elbow. “Liam’s asking you a question.”

Harry’s stare broke and he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m still not used to hearing ‘Harry.’ Can you—what was the question?” He laughed and took a drag of his beer.

Louis spoke before Liam could. “Wants to know what you think of Minnesota.”

Harry smiled and leaned back into the sofa cushion, jerking a thumb toward Louis. “This asshole didn’t quite tell me how cold it was.”

“Bullshit, you just didn’t listen. Not my fault you’re stubborn as hell,” Louis answered, sipping his own beer. It was a little warm, he’d nursed it too long, but he didn’t want to get up and swap it out. Louis’ eyes roamed the crowd crammed in Liam’s basement. A couple played pool together, the balls making a solid sound as they hit each other. The taller man popped a hip out and pouted while his boyfriend took several turns in a row. That hip looked familiar for some reason, but Louis wasn’t about to ask if they’d met before. Didn’t know how long the boyfriend had been around. He turned his attention back to Harry. “And it’s not that cold.”

“It’s zero degrees out!” Harry waved a hand loosely in the air. “And there’s snow. Real snow. On the ground, up to my knees!”

“It’s not up to your knees,” Louis said.

Liam chuckled. “You’re from Atlanta, right? Ever seen snow like this?”

“Born and raised, and no, never. But when I got out, Tommo asked if I wanted to come visit. Had to borrow a coat from him.” Harry jutted his head toward Louis. “Sleeves don’t even cover my wrists!”

“Should’ve come in June, Harry.” Liam hit his knee and laughed.

“You can stay long as you want, told you that, you know,” Louis said distractedly. “June is nice.”

“Well, Lou’s told me a lot about you. And any friend of his is a friend of mine. Make sure you get my number,” Liam said. “You ever need to bitch about him, I’m here for you. I understand.”

Harry laughed and sipped his beer. “So how old are you? If you don’t mind?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you? This isn’t my actual birthday. My real birthday’s in August. I’ll be twenty-five.”

Louis smirked at Harry, whose brow was furrowed. “He celebrates in March because of me.”

“It’s true.” The lines near Liam’s eyes crinkled. “My birthday is late August, before school starts, and I always got screwed with school birthdays. So in—what was it, Lou, fifth or sixth grade?”

Louis nodded. “Sixth, I think, Mrs. Sandstrom’s class.”

“Ah yeah, that was it.” Liam nodded and he turned back to Harry. “First week or so of school, we’re making some birthday chart or something. I’m one of the only summer birthdays. Lou raises his hand. ‘Mrs. Sandstrom—’”

“I didn’t sound like that,” Louis said, rolling his eyes.

Liam winked at Harry and continued in a falsetto. “‘Mrs. Sandstrom, I don’t think it’s fair the summer birthdays don’t ever get school parties. Can’t we do them like half birthdays, six months early or late?’” Liam raked a hand through his hair. “She agreed. And I came home and told my mom, who liked Lou more than me—”

“Not true, man.”

“So true,” Liam said. Noise swelled behind him and he raised his voice. “You and your good grades, showing me up. Anyhow, she liked the idea, and as a kid I celebrated my half birthday on March first—unless it was a leap year, then I’d do it then. Now I just throw a party somewhere in March. Just kinda became tradition.”

“Happy birthday, Liam!”

A roar filled Louis’ ears briefly, only to be replaced with clapping, singing, and a barely-audible static buzzing noise. A large sheet cake was slid on the table and Louis snapped his eyes shut against the light. He turned his head and squinted at the cake sideways. The candles were throwing off electric sparks. Shit. Louis squeezed his eyes shut. One, two, in. Three, four, out. Five, six—

Liam laughed. “Won't blow out! Gotta wait for these to burn down, huh?”

Eight, out. Nine, ten, in. When the singing was replaced with cheering, Louis finally opened his eyes. The sparkler candles were gone and Liam was cutting the cake, passing paper plates down the table.

Louis braced his hands on his knees and waited for his pulse to slow down. “What kind of cake is it,” he choked out.

“Chocolate, my fave,” Liam replied. “Hey, where’d Harry go?”

Louis put his hand on the cushion next to him, feeling the warmth Harry had left behind. “Don’t know, bathroom probably.” Louis leaned forward and took an empty plate from the stack, holding it in front of Liam. “I’ll go find him. Can you fit two pieces on here?”

Liam balanced a slice of cake on the edge of a large knife. “Think so,” he said, dumping it on the plate. It was quickly followed by a second piece.

“Thanks, be back in a second.” Louis swiped two plastic forks off the table and stood up so quickly he swayed.

“Beer’s in the fridge if you want another,” Liam called out. As if Louis didn’t know that. As if he’d forgotten.

Louis surveyed the first floor. Bathroom door was open, nobody was in sight. Louis headed toward the kitchen where he saw the broad back of his friend, his hands braced against the counter top. “Hey, Styles,” Louis said. He poked a finger against Harry’s shoulder. “Dick or finger?”

“I’m standing Tommo, so I hope to holy hell that’s your finger, ’cause your dick wasn’t that long before.”

Louis laughed as Harry turned around. He gave Harry the plate and a fork, dropping the other one on the counter. “Chocolate, your fave. Can have both pieces if you want.” Louis grabbed a beer from the fridge and opened it. He put it down beside Harry. “I’m driving.”

“I—the—”

“Shut up and eat your cake.” Louis leaned against the kitchen island behind him and pressed his hands into the cool granite.

Harry stabbed the cake and frowned at Louis. “Your shoulder.”

“It’s fine, Doc.”

“Fucking liar. You winced.”

Louis shrugged his left shoulder, the good one. “I’ve got another doctor now, you got nothing to do with this.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “The shrink you see? He doesn’t count.”

Louis reached forward with his right hand out and picked up the fork. “See? Great range of motion.”

“You leaned at the waist,” Harry said, shoving cake in his mouth. Louis took a bite of cake and they stood in silence until most of it was gone. When he spoke again, Harry’s voice was low. “Ever think of how many birthdays they don’t get?”

Louis avoided Harry’s eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Martinez was what, nineteen? Missed a good sixty of them.” Harry took the last of his cake and passed the plate to Louis. “Figure sixty missed birthdays each. Just on our side. How many is that?”

Louis used the edge of his fork to scrape frosting off the plate. “Never thought about it.”

“What would your shrink say?”

“‘Focus on the positive.’”

Harry ran a hand over his head and scratched the back of his neck. “How’s that working?” He took a long drag of his beer while Louis tossed the plate in the trash. Louis returned but didn’t answer. He just studied Harry’s face, as close-shaven as he’d ever seen it. Harry nodded toward Louis’ right hand. “Never mind, then. How’s your grip?”

“Little weaker, they say.” Louis studied his palm and then dropped an open fist near his crotch. He moved his wrist back and forth slowly, smirking. “I say grip’s just fine.”

Harry laughed and tilted the neck of his beer toward Louis’ jeans. “The way you used to choke that thing, your dick’s probably relieved you got a weaker grip.”

“Fucker.” Louis laughed and shook his head.

Harry rubbed his thumbnail against the edge of the label on his bottle, making little bits of paper flutter to the ground. “We going to The Rooster tonight?”

“We can, I’ll drive.”

Harry sighed. “Thanks, Tommo.”

 

**April 2014**

It was already April. You’d never know wet flakes of snow coated the ground outside; the inside of the bar was humid and smelled like sweat and booze and men. Incredible.

Harry put the empty glass on the bar and turned his back to the bartender. The Rum and Coke had covered the taste of cheap whiskey. Too slowly, a cloudiness crept through Harry’s mind; the thumping dance music dulling any still-sharp thoughts.

Harry eyed Louis as he leaned against a wall and chatted with a very hot brunette. Hair that looked effortless but obviously wasn’t, olive-colored cheekbones offset by a week’s worth of stubble, and those amber eyes. Nice job, Tommo.

“Your friend does well.”

Harry grabbed the edge of the bar and swiveled in his seat to face the bartender. He yelled to make himself heard over the noise. “Yeah, he does. Must be that ass!” Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw the man Louis had been chatting up walk toward the bathrooms. “Very well.”

The bartender nodded toward Harry’s glass. “Another?”

“Please!”

He took the glass and started mixing a new drink. “You’re not from around here. Can tell by the accent.”

“Damn, thought I’d gotten rid of that. No, Atlanta.”

“Atlanta, huh? Big gay scene down there, right?”

“Yeah, gay capital of the South, something like that.” Harry rubbed a hand over his hair. It was longer than it had been in years, and he wasn’t sure if it needed a trim.

“What the hell brought you to this frozen tundra?” He slipped an extra lime wedge on the edge of the glass and pushed it toward Harry.

“Shit, you’re learning my drink.” The lime was slippery in Harry’s clumsy hands. He squeezed it over his drink and looked over his shoulder again. He caught Louis walking away, his fingertips running over his back pocket, where Harry had shoved a condom before they left the house. Harry chuckled and looked at the bartender again. “Must come here too often.”

“No such thing! And your friend, he never has more than two.” The bartender glanced at the crowd. “Drinks, I mean.”

“My friend—we were deployed together. Afghanistan. He got out first. When I got out I came for a visit. Haven’t left yet. He lives about an hour north, on some farm.” Harry scoffed, and rolled his head around loosely, realization dawning on him. “I went from a fucking sandbox…to a fucking farm.”

“Marines?” The bartender looked sideways at Harry, a smile playing on his lips.

Harry chuckled and rubbed his hand over his head. “Looks like it, right? Navy technically, he’s the Leatherneck.”

“Corpsman?”

“Yeah.” Harry cocked his head and lifted the drink to his lips. “You must be military.”

“Oohrah. Devil Doc, eh? You’re close enough to a Marine.” He thrust his hand out. “Served in Iraq. Carlson, John.”

Harry shook his hand, pumping it hard. “Styles, Harry. He’s Tommo—Tomlinson, Louis.”

“I never forget a serviceman’s name. Everyone else can screw themselves, right? Next time you come, your drinks are on me.” John pointed behind him. “Top shelf even. Looks like you need another one soon, actually.”

Harry laughed. “Mmm, thanks.”

John gave Harry another Rum and Coke and wiped his hands on his thighs. He looked down the length of the bar at a gym-bunny-in-training and rolled his eyes. “Asshole down there needs some attention. Nice talking to you. Yell if you need anything.”

Harry raised his glass briefly and turned back to survey the dance floor, which had grown packed in the time he’d been talking. He sipped at his drink, some of it sloshing onto his jeans. Harry blinked languidly at the damp spot and drank more carefully, the ice clinking against his teeth. A warm heat filled his body. He was watching a shirtless man grind against another and trying to mentally tally up his tab when Louis slid into the seat next to him. Harry looked at him, his vision a bit fuzzy. “Feel better?”

Louis dragged his knuckles against his jawline. His eyes were heavy and dark. “Yep.”

Harry bobbed his head around, trying to find the amber-eyed man. “Get his number?”

“Nope.”

Harry nodded, then brought his hand up and lazily pointed over his own shoulder. “Bartender served in Iraq. Name’s, um…John. Carl? Something.”

Louis spun around, caught John’s eye, and grinned at him. “Flirting, huh?” he said to Harry. “Did you have enough to drink?”

“No, not really. Not flirting,” Harry said slowly. His tongue felt very heavy. “Monster, I can’t remember. I can’t fucking remember.”

Louis laughed and slapped Harry on the back. “Damn, you’re gone, Doc. It’s a good thing I’m driving.”

Harry tilted his head and rested it on Louis’ shoulder. He closed his eyes. “Shit. Do I stink yet?”

“What?”

He furrowed his brow and spoke slowly, waving a hand in the air. “You know, fish and, um… People who stay with you. After three days, that old guy, his quote.” Tommo would understand. He would know.

Louis waved for the bill and took his wallet out of his pocket. “You can stay as long as you want.”

Tommo always knew.

“Do I need to pay you in cookies?” Harry looked up at Louis and frowned, his voice viscous. “I need a job.”

“Remember Niall, my neighbor?” Louis filled out the bill while Harry watched. Louis always tipped generously. “He needs some help, or you could get an EMT job—”

“No, no EMT job. No.”

Louis continued as if Harry hadn’t spoken. “The house is paid off, parents are just happy it’s being taken care of. Long as we can cover the bills, we’re good.”

“But, cookies? I like cookies.”

“Yes, homemade cookies are fine. None of that MRE shit.” Louis rubbed Harry’s back and pushed him into a standing position. “Let’s go, I’m good.”

 

**May 2014**

“Louis! Harry!”

Louis’ heart raced at the noise. He stopped swiping right, dropped his phone, and jumped out of the recliner. He pulled the door open to find his neighbor chewing on a fingernail. His foot jiggled so hard a nail in the wooden deck squeaked. “Niall?”

Niall’s blonde hair was askew and bits of straw and dirt clung to his clothes. He craned his neck to look around Louis. “Is Harry here? Need some help—”

“Harry can’t work today. He’s sick. Can I—what do you need?” Louis widened his stance and puffed up his shoulders, taking up space. Blocking the view.

Niall scraped his hands through his hair. “Ewe’s stuck. First lamb came, but the second lamb won’t come. Need help getting it out.”

“Getting it out?” Louis looked over his shoulder at the couch. Styles wasn’t stirring at all. Shit.

“Yeah. The Johnsons are at work, and their girls are at school. Can you help?” Niall’s looked at Louis’ jeans. “Maybe put on clothes that can get dirty.”

“I don’t know how to—”

“I just need a second person.” Niall’s voice raced. “Wait, why are you home? Your car’s usually gone on Tuesdays, isn’t it?”

“Uh. My appointment got canceled. Hold on, let me change.” Louis left the door ajar and hoped Niall would stay put.

In his room, Louis pulled clothes out of his drawers. He hadn’t really gone shopping since his discharge. He didn’t need much and everything was too new. Louis knew what would work, but he couldn’t—

“Lou! Anything that can get dirty!”

“Give me a fucking second, Niall!”

He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. He had to.

Louis yanked a bin out of the corner of the closet, flipped the plastic lid off, and closed his eyes for a brief moment. He ran his fingers over the desert cammies and lifted them out. He shook them hard. The fabric snapped.

Louis fixed his gaze and pushed his plaid cotton pajama bottoms off. He pulled the cammies on, closing his eyes. They’d been washed a dozen times; Louis still felt the grit. One, two, in. Three, four, out.

He tugged a black t-shirt off a thick plastic hanger. The hanger fell off the rod, bouncing against the wall once before clattering to the floor. Louis smoothed the shirt on and ran his hands over his chest and stomach. Something was missing.

No dog tags.

Louis rushed to the door, slipping on an old pair of shoes without any socks. Niall hadn’t moved.

One quick, jerky truck ride later, Louis was jogging to keep up with Niall’s long strides as they headed to his house. “What do I do?”

“Whatever I ask you do. Hand me stuff.”

“I’m not a fucking medic, Ni.”

Niall stopped short. His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. He flicked one hand hard in the air, too close to Louis’ face. “Your fucking medic is passed out! Or haven’t you noticed?”

Louis reeled. He spun on his heel and took six solid steps. One, two, in. Thr—screw counting. He turned around and planted his hands on his hips, even though it made his right shoulder ache. “Fuck you!” Louis stomped back and leaned forward, his hot breath making Niall’s hair puff up when he spoke. “Don’t you ever shit talk him again.” A spray of his spittle stuck to the fine stubble on Niall’s chin.

Niall stepped back and held his hands up, palms open. “Sorry. I’m—you’re right—”

“You don’t get it!" Louis clenched his fists by his thighs. It would be so easy to punch him right now. Louis’ fingers uncurled. Damn grip. "Stick to the fucking farm!”

Niall’s eyes were open and wide, his voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Louis’ eyes darted to where a single ewe was making circles in a small pen. He waved a hand in her direction. “Now what the hell do we do?”

Niall took a deep breath and gestured for Louis to follow him. “Wash up first.”

They scrubbed up and Niall pulled on latex gloves. Louis carried rags and towels out to the pen while Niall carried a bottle of iodine, small scissors he’d cleaned in the kitchen, a bulb syringe, some sort of soft nylon rope, and a jar labeled OB JELLY. Niall set up his supplies on a towel near the animal’s hind legs.

The ewe was standing, breathing heavily. The other sheep were separated by a thin wire fence, bleating and making a racket. A small black lamb lay in a pile of hay in the pen. “Shh, shh, it’s OK Daisy,” Niall murmured as he coated his gloved left hand and forearm in the OB jelly.

“You need lube?”

“You want me to go in dry?” Niall’s voice was firm, matter-of-fact. He was on his knees, waiting.

“Jesus Christ, how did I end up here?” Louis’ eyes were wild. “What—how can I help?”

“Can you crouch down near her face and pat her, whisper to her, and maybe hold her neck? Just keep her calm.”

Louis dropped to his knees and started petting Daisy. Her brown wool was springy, thick, and a little greasy. He dug his fingers into her locks and spoke calmly but loudly enough for Niall to hear him. “You know what’s wrong?”

“Ever lambed before?” Seeing Louis’ blank look, Niall made fists and held them near his cheeks. “When lambs are born, their front hooves are forward and their face is kind of squished between them. Right now I can sometimes see the lamb’s nose, but no hoof. I think the legs are pointed back.”

“How the hell do you fix that?”

“You can push the lamb around and try to move its legs. The problem is the shoulder.”

Louis’ jaw dropped. “You need to push the lamb around?” he stage-whispered. Daisy’s breath started coming out in stronger bursts as her torso expanded and collapsed.

Niall nodded grimly. “OK, get ready to hold her—those are contractions—I might need you to help hold her up. She’ll want to lie down.”

Louis looked at the sheep and patted her. “It’s OK. Hey, Daisy,” he soothed, “you have really cool pupils. They’re rectangles, did you know that? Cats have vertical slits, but look at those eyes. Wonder why they’re that shape.” Louis had no idea how to woo a sheep. Especially not a pregnant, stuck one.

“Dammit,” Niall groaned. Louis looked over Daisy at Niall. His hand was inside of her. How did it even fit?

“Can you feel it?” Daisy pressed hard against Louis, and he pushed back, holding her up.

“Yeah, the… I think…” Niall grunted and took a deep breath. His body stilled. “I think I’ve hooked—I’ve got my fingers hooked around its leg. Now we wait again. Until the next contraction.”

Louis blinked hard. “You need to sit here with your hand up an ewe’s vagina? For how long?”

“Believe me, this isn’t my idea of a hot date, either.”

Louis adjusted himself so his right arm was wrapped around Daisy’s torso, his left arm petting her face. He talked to her, and soon her breathing changed again. “Think she’s having—”

“Quick study. C’mon, girl. C’mon.” Niall grunted and rocked back a bit. “OK, I can feel it, lamb’s finally moving.”

The contraction subsided and Louis winced. His shoulder was burning, but he wasn’t sure his left arm was strong enough to hold Daisy up. “She’s OK, right?”

“Hope so,” Niall said. “Dammit! Hand slipped.” Louis stayed silent, twisting his head around to watch. Sweat beaded on Niall’s forehead, his brow wrinkled with concentration. “I’ve… OK, got it again.”

Louis rubbed his cheek against Daisy’s wool. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. She started panting harder, and Louis pulled her against him to keep her standing.

Niall muttered to himself the whole time. “Yes, yes, there’s the head, c’mon, Daisy… It’s OK, rest, rest… Nice contraction… OK, we’ll wait again. We’re on your schedule… Oh, look, slipped back a bit, it’s fine… You’re working hard…”

Louis chuckled at Niall’s chatter and talked to Daisy through each round of contractions. The noise of the flock had faded into the background; all of Louis’ focus was on Niall and the ewe. His shoulder was on fire, but at least he didn’t have his hand inside a sheep.

“OK, this is it, this is it,” Niall said, his voice rising. “I got the shoulder out, so it’s coming, it’s coming.”

“Daisy, good job!” Louis said, his voice soft.

Louis turned his head just in time to see Niall scoop his hands under the lamb’s front legs as Daisy pushed. “You can let go, let go!”

Louis hugged Daisy briefly and released her. She bleated as he shuffled backwards on his knees, looking at the long, slippery grey sack on the ground. Niall swept the lamb’s face, nose, and mouth. He patted it several times on the torso. “Breathe, buddy…”

“Baa!”

Tears sprang to Louis’ eyes. “Oh my God.”

“Maeh! Maaeehh!” A chorus of noises came from Daisy and both lambs.

Niall sat all the way down and let the lamb stutter around on its own. He sighed. “Thank you.”

“What…what about the other stuff?” Louis asked, gesturing toward the towel. “You don’t need it?”

“Need to give him—it’s a boy—a few minutes, then I’ll clip, dip, and strip.” Niall pulled off his gloves and put on a fresh pair. “Clip the cord, dip it in iodine, and strip her teats so they can eat.” He looked at the towel. “Didn’t need the syringe—got the mucus off his face. He’s breathing.”

Louis glanced at Daisy, who was cleaning the new lamb. The other lamb was rooting around, trying to nurse. “This is so…gross. And amazing.” Louis’ voice was quiet. He looked at the towel again and frowned. “What’s the rope for?”

Niall chuckled. “Sometimes you have to feel the legs and loop the rope around them to pull them out.”

“You what?” Louis looked at Daisy, horrified. “You have to shove a rope inside of her?”

“Yeah, thankfully he was a small one, so getting one leg forward was enough. Do you want to stick around for the afterbirth?”

Louis’ face paled. “Oh God, no.”

Niall laughed. “Can you run to the barn and get some fresh hay, then? I’d like to stay here with them right now. Case anything else goes wrong. It’s over there,” Niall pointed to the pole barn.

Louis jumped up and brushed himself off. “Yeah, how much?”

“Five or six big armfuls? There should be a wheelbarrow in there.”

In the barn, Louis quickly found the wheelbarrow. He loaded piles of slick, dry hay into it. On his last armful, something heavy slipped through the hay. Louis thrust his hand in the prickly pile and felt around. His fingers wrapped around smooth, cool glass.

He reeled. Loonshine, a local boutique whiskey. The same whiskey Louis had stolen from some selfish hipster asshole he’d made the mistake of going home with a few days earlier. The bottle was completely empty. “Shit, shit, shit.” Why in the hell had Styles brought it over here?

Louis bit his lip and rubbed his thumb over the etched label. It was too big to fit in his pocket. He eyed the corners of the barn, searching for the darkest one. He hid the bottle, straining to listen for Niall. Doc would have to get it later, when he came back to work.

Louis strode to the pile of hay, pressing a hand to his chest as if it would slow his heartbeat. He grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow, balanced it on its single wheel, and pushed it out into the sunshine. It was heavier than he expected and his heart was thumping wildly. Blame the exertion. He ignored the pain, ignored the way he favored his left side. “Got the hay!”

“They’re looking good,” Niall said, opening the small gate, careful not to let the lambs out. He and Louis spread the hay around then watched for a few minutes. Niall cleared his throat, his hands on his hips. “She’s doing well. Claiming both lambs. I can drop you off at home, but I’ve gotta come right back, is that OK?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’d give you dinner for thanks, but maybe another night?”

“No worries, Ni.” Louis walked toward the beat-up truck.

Niall snapped his fingers. “When we meet Liam this weekend, I’ll buy the drinks.”

“I feel like you’ve met, when we were kids and I came up here to visit Grandma and Grandpa?” Louis climbed into the passenger seat of the pickup truck.

“Yeah, but it’s been years,” Niall said, turning the truck around in the driveway. “Lou, thanks again for all your help. You really did keep Daisy calm.”

“What are you going to name him?” Louis cleared his throat. “The stuck lamb, I mean.”

“Don’t normally name the males. Sell them for meat.” Niall pulled onto the gravel road and glanced at Louis. “We can name him if you want.”

“Ed.”

“Ed?”

“Edward.”

“OK, Ed.” Niall rubbed his jaw. “About earlier…”

“He’s not—it’s…” Louis sighed and started over. “That train derailment a few days ago?”

“The one up in North Dakota?” Niall’s eyes stared intently at the empty road.

“Yeah.” Louis bit the inside of his lip. “It really upset him. He wants to help, but by the time it makes the news…there isn’t much he can do. He’s not sleeping, keeps watching TV, I can’t… I don’t—”

“Listen, he’s been great around here. A hard worker, a funny guy. I was out of line, I was just thinking he could help, being a medic and all, and I—it wasn’t fair.” Niall pulled into Louis’ driveway and idled. “No hard feelings?”

Louis shook his head and jumped out of the truck. “No hard feelings. Go take care of Daisy, give Edward a pat for me!” He slammed the door, waved Niall off and entered the house.

It was oddly quiet and it took Louis a second to realize why: Styles had finally turned the news off. “Doc?” There was no answer, but Louis heard a shower running in the far end of the house. Fantastic. He wandered to the kitchen and washed his hands. The smell of chocolate hung in the air. The cookies they’d made last night should be put away… Later, maybe.

Louis slumped onto the couch and played a few games on his phone before he started swiping right, left, right, right.

“Hey,” a voice croaked.

“How nice of you to wake up,” Louis said, swiping right without even looking.

Harry stood in some dark purple low-slung cotton pajama pants. His hair was wet, and his naked torso was damp. “Yeah, guess I needed sleep,” he said. “Where’d you go? And why are you in your cammies?”

“Just a sec,” Louis said. He responded to a message, then closed his phone and looked at Harry. “Want some cookies before I pack them up?” He jumped off the couch and walked toward the kitchen, Harry following closely behind.

“The cammies?”

Louis leaned against the counter and bit into a double chocolate cookie. “This is good,” he said with a full mouth. “Niall had an ewe who was lambing—did you know that was a verb? I didn’t. Anyhow, one of his lambs got stuck and he had to fish it out. Wore cammies ’cause they could get dirty.”

“Fish it out?” Harry’s eyes widened as he poured two glasses of milk. He handed one to Louis. “Fish…it out?”

Louis dipped a cookie in the milk, letting it get soggy. “Mmm, hand right up there.”

Harry’s brow wrinkled. “That’s disgusting.”

“You do know you’re a medic, right?” Louis laughed. “Named the baby Edward.”

“Was a medic.” Harry chewed a cookie and smiled. “My middle name?”

“Don’t get too excited. They eat the boys.” Louis’ phone buzzed and he opened up a message. “Mind if I go out for a little bit?”

“’Course not.”

Louis didn’t look up from his phone. “By the way, found an empty bottle of whiskey in the hay.”

Harry took two bites before replying. “Old bottle?”

Louis tapped at his phone and shrugged. “No. Hid it in the front right corner of the barn.” He smacked his phone against his thigh and looked at Harry. “So, I’m out of suppl—”

“Bathroom cabinet.”

“Thanks.” Louis sighed. “Guess I should shower.”

Harry tipped his head. “Tommo, you can bring him back here. I can leave, or just hide out in my room.”

Louis picked at his fingernails. “Not my house.”

“Your family’s in Florida. They won’t know,” Harry said, his voice low and full.

“That’s n—” Louis stopped. He shoved his hands in his pockets at glanced at Harry. “I don’t want them to know where I live.”

Harry shrugged. “Should I make dinner, or wait?”

Louis rolled his neck around a few times. “I’ll be home for dinner. We can order in.”

Harry fanned his hands over the counter tops. “We have cookies and milk, what else do we need? Go shower.” He smacked Louis on his good shoulder. “And get the fuck out of those cammies.”


	2. Summer

**June 2014**

“Thanks for letting me stay over.” Harry was only a little tipsy. Unusual, but once Tommo had left The Rooster, there was really no reason to stay. “The cab ride back to the farm would be fucking expensive.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just using me for my fancy city house.” Liam laughed and put the pizza and cheese sticks down on the table and tore off the box lids, making two makeshift plates. He grabbed some glasses from the cupboard. “What do you want to drink? I’m out of beer, but I’ve got Coke, root beer. Juice, that’s random…”

“You’re out of beer? You’re never out of beer. Coke, I guess.”

Liam rummaged through the fridge. “Forgot last time I went shopping. Oh! I did pick up a toothbrush for you.”

Harry pulled a piece of pepperoni pizza off the pie and dropped it on his box lid. “My own toothbrush!”

Liam handed Harry a can of Coke and a glass of ice and sat down across the table. “This is your third late-night visit. Three dates and you get a toothbrush.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and shimmied a shoulder. “Oooh, do I get laid, too?”

Liam pursed his lips and tipped his head to the side. “You haven’t even taken me out to dinner, Harry. This feels very one-sided.”

Harry laughed. “Does that mean I don’t have to put out?”

“Maybe.” Liam wiggled his eyebrows and smirked. They ate in silence for a few minutes. “What do you think about Minnesota? Now that the snow’s melted, at least?”

“The snow! You’ll like this.” Harry wiped his mouth with his napkin and rubbed his hands together. “When I was a kid, school was canceled if there was any snow. We had a dusting, once, so light it could blow across the road. They closed school.”

“For what?”

Harry grinned slowly. “No snow plows.”

“You don’t need a plow for that!” Liam tapped his chin a few times. “Hell, you can’t plow that!”

“I know that now!” Harry ripped the foil off a cup of pizza sauce and dipped his crust in it. “But the snow day was fun. Couldn’t build snowmen or sled, obviously. Played video games all day.”

“We do sometimes get snow days. But more often school gets called when the wind chill is lower than forty below.”

Harry dropped his crust and his jaw. “Forty below? You’re shitting me, right?”

Liam laughed and held both hands up. “Windchill, and no, I’m not shitting you.”

“Damn.” Harry bit his crust and shook his head. “Damn!”

“But the summers?” Liam smirked and dipped a cheese stick in the pizza sauce.

Harry nodded and raised both eyebrows. “Your summers win, so far at least. Atlanta’s are hell. Sticky, smoggy. Your traffic wins, too.”

“How are the lakes? Clean enough to swim in? We should go swimming soon. Maybe canoeing, Louis was always good at that.”

“What lakes?” Harry scoffed. “We have Lake Lanier. And a few others, but they’re all man-made. You swim in lakes here?”

Liam reared his head back and shook it. “Fake lakes? Ugh. Yeah, a lot of the lakes have public beaches. Oh! Louis and I were swimming at one as kids, maybe ten years old? The lifeguards used to do test runs, you know, blow their whistles to get everyone out of the water?” Harry nodded and Liam continued. “So we’re ten or so, and they do one. We run out, shivering, huddling together under our towels. We’re waiting, we’re waiting, and this woman starts screaming. Just…awful wailing. Everyone’s quiet—it was weird, the beach was never that quiet.”

Harry took a swig of his Coke. “It wasn’t a drill.”

“Yeah.” Liam rubbed his chin and looked past Harry. “Kid drowned.”

“Fuck.” Harry shook his head. “What…what’d you do?”

“We were with Jay, Louis’ mom. She hugged us, one under each arm. She wouldn’t let us go. We were just sort of…numb? We knew not to go near dropoffs—do you know what a dropoff is?” Harry shook his head and Liam held his hands far apart vertically. “It’s like a really steep area in a lake, where the ground just falls out and you don’t expect it. They put signs around them, but we weren’t near one. Just swimming on the beach. With lifeguards and everything.”

“So Tommo’s mom kept hugging you?”

“Yeah, and sobbing. That night my mom came over to Louis’ and we had a sleepover. We heard our moms talking all night. They wouldn’t stop hugging us, tight. I was scared to swim for a while after that, too.”

“Mm, makes sense,” Harry said, lacing his fingers together and rubbing the skin of his hands with the pads of his thumbs.

“I think Louis was scared, too, but he was always out there swimming. ‘C’mon, Liam, come out!’” Liam waved his arm toward himself in imitation. “Wouldn’t stop until I finally swam with him.”

“He does that.” Harry cleared his throat and stared at his hands. His voice dropped. “Brave for everyone else, I mean.”

Liam leaned forward, closing some of the distance between him and Harry. “I know, and he’ll never admit it!” Harry chuckled and nodded. Liam absently picked up the last piece of pizza and planted his elbows on the table. “You know, I think the only other time Jay hugged Lou so hard was when she was dropping him off for boot camp.”

“Oh, oh, I can imagine. My mom was a mess.”

Liam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Does your family miss you?”

“Hmm?”

“Your family. Are they in Atlanta?”

Harry shook his head. “They were, but they moved when I was in. Scattered a bit—sister stayed in Atlanta, my mom and stepdad moved to New York. My sis works for some local alternative weekly newspaper down there.”

“What about your friends?”

What friends? His friends had gone off to top schools and they couldn’t understand why Harry would want to hang out with, what was it one said? Losers who couldn’t do something better with themselves. Some of his family, too, cousins and aunts and uncles… That’s not what the Styles family does, Harry. Couldn’t see why he would waste his time being a medic when he could be a doctor instead.

Harry rubbed his fingers against his paper napkin. “Eh, didn’t really keep in touch with many of them. Most of my friends didn’t get why I wanted to enlist, and we kind of lost touch.”

Liam pulled his crust apart and ate it slowly. “Is it weird being here where you don’t really know anyone?”

Harry leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers together on the table. “I know you and Niall. And I didn’t know anyone when I went to boot camp. It’s not a big deal.” Minnesota was a fresh start. A way to meet better friends, get some distance. And figure out what the hell to do with himself, because anything having to do with blood and life and death was too much, too hard. Took too much of…himself. Harry picked up their boxes, shoved them in Liam’s trash, and tossed his can in the recycling bin. “Want to play some video games?”

“Hell yeah.” Liam put their glasses in the sink and followed Harry into the living room. “What are you in the mood for? _Call of Duty_ , _GTA_ —”

“Erm, I don’t really want—”

“Oh God, I’m an ass. Sorry,” Liam said quickly. “Sports something? _Madden NFL_ , _FIFA_ , _NBA—_ ”

“Football!” Harry’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out while Liam set up the game and controllers. He tapped out a message and set the phone down.

“That Louis?” Liam asked, handing Harry a controller and starting the game.

“Yeah, doing his two-hour check in.”

“I’m glad he messages you. Glad he takes his own car, too.” Liam sank back into the couch and put his feet up on the ottoman.

“He’s fine, Liam.” Harry’s voice had an edge to it. “He can take care of himself. He doesn’t even need that fucking shrink anymore.”

Liam paused the game and glanced at Harry. “What the hell are you mad about? I know he’s fine. I trust him. I don’t trust strangers.” His brow creased. “Wait, he doesn’t need therapy anymore? He didn’t tell me that.”

“Therapist told him he was done doing what he could.” Harry set his mouth in a tight line. “I’m sorry I—I’m tired. Can we just play?”

Liam started the game again and they played in silence for a while. When Liam finally spoke, his voice was small but firm. “I know he’s fine. I’ve known him for over fifteen years. He’s my best friend.”

Harry’s heart thumped and he bit his lip. “It’s not a competition.” And if it was, Harry would lose. It was his fault Tommo had shrapnel jammed in his scapula and a jagged, thick scar running down his back. Smith lost part of his leg. Because of him, Wu’s mother had to bury her son—sure, he wasn’t the only medic, but he should have been able to do more. Notice the IED. Catch it. He’d been distracted, joking around, too comfor—

“Here.” Liam’s voice was soft.

Harry jolted. “What?” His eyes burned and the living room swam in front of him.

Liam held out a box of tissues. He pulled the top two off, handed them to Harry, and put the box on the end table. “I’m glad Louis has you. You’re… Yeah.”

He left the room. Harry had no idea where he was going; he only knew he was glad he left. He dropped the controller and pressed the heels of his hands against his sockets. Jesus. Crying? Over what?

When Harry calmed down, he walked to the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face. A toothbrush sat on the counter. A sticky note said HARRY and had a big smiley face drawn on it. Harry folded the note into a square and put it in his pocket before brushing his teeth.

He wandered into the kitchen to find Liam typing on his phone. He flopped down at the table. “Hi.”

“What’re you doing for the Fourth of July?” Liam didn’t look up.

Harry laughed bitterly and ran his nail over the oak woodgrain. “Avoiding fireworks, why?”

“Remember at dinner with Niall, he mentioned having a house up on the lake?”

Harry traced the pattern beneath him. The whorls and loops of wood were never-ending. He could sit here for hours, his fingers swooping along the wood. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been texting him—and you can say no, so can Lou, but he invited us up for the Fourth. They live on sixty acres, have a view of the lake. And it won’t be like here, no big crowds.”

Harry folded his arms on the table in front of him and rested his head on them. He looked at Liam from under his lashes. “Would you both be there?”

Liam thought for a minute. “Well, it’s Niall’s place, so…”

“Good.” Harry straightened suddenly and took his phone out of his pocket. He played with the magnetic snap on the protective case, his shoulders hunched near his ears. “Are there lots of fireworks? I…”

Liam smiled and shook his head, thumbing over a message. “Niall says, ‘It’s pretty quiet, the neighbors might shoot some off, but most of the time people turn in pretty early.’”

“I like that,” Harry said. “Let me ask Monster.”

“Monster?”

“It’s… Yeah, his nickname.” Harry smiled slowly, a deep dimple forming in his cheek.

“Did he say when he’s coming to pick you up?”

“Before breakfast.” Harry’s voice was distant. He put the phone down and started in on the wood grain again, stretching to reach the side of the table. “Around seven? Is that OK?”

“I’ve got eggs and bacon. We can make up some quick biscuits or muffins if you two want to eat breakfast together.”

“Sounds good, I’m sure he’ll say yes.” Harry’s finger ran along a deep groove in the table. A knife had slipped, or maybe the tines of a carving fork. He skipped from one loop to another by following the gash. The table was scarred here, the natural pattern broken. Damaged, wrong. “Monster always says yes to free food. Sneaky fucking bastard.”

 

**July 2014**

“Tommo, these are so good.” Harry sat on the counter, his feet swinging and bumping against the cupboards. “What are they called again?”

Louis took two more cookie sheets out the oven and put them on the stove. He shook off the hot mitts, turned the knob to off, and leaned against the sink. “Snickerdoodles.” His fingertips smelled like cinnamon and sugar. His mom made snickerdoodles with him on the first day of school. They did it every year, right through his senior year of high school. He knew the perfect size of dough to pinch off, just how brown to make the cookies so the edges were crisp and the cinnamon-sugar coating would crackle. Louis smiled at the memory. “This is the last batch, and I am not cleaning up.”

The sliding glass doors were open, and a breeze coming off the lake wound its way into the room. It was past ten, and even though it was still twilight, the fireworks had died down earlier, just as Niall had promised. The moon was a jagged, shifting coin reflecting on the water. Loons called in the distance, hard to hear over the chatter in the lake house.

Liam and Niall sat at the kitchen table, dipping warm cookies in milk. “My grandma used to make these,” Niall said.

“Mine, too,” Liam said. “You never had these Harry?”

Harry broke one of the soft cookies in half. “I’ve had sugar cookies, used to help my nana make them every Christmas. But I’ve never had these cinnamon sort of ones.”

Louis crossed one ankle over the other, his hands folded across his chest. “Why am I the one baking cookies when you said you were going to earn your keep by baking for me?”

Harry shoved a cookie in his mouth, inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He chewed and picked up another cookie. “But I don’t know how to bake these, Monster.”

Liam dunked a cookie and popped it in his mouth. He spoke around the cookie, his words muffled. “Can one of you fuckers please explain the ‘Monster’ thing? I am having a hard time thinking of my buddy Louis as a monster.”

Louis looked at Harry and raised a single eyebrow. “You want to explain this?”

Harry smiled, his dimple showing. He rubbed his hands against his thighs and twisted on the counter to face Niall and Liam. “Basically, Tommo’s an asshole.”

“You suck at telling this story!” Louis touched his chest with his fingertips. “I’m a master barterer.”

Niall coughed and thumped his chest with a fist. “Master barterer? Or masturba—”

“Yes, barterer, Niall. Not bator.”

Liam lifted his milk in the air. “He’s that, too.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Harry said. “He’s got a goddamn death grip.”

“I hate you both.”

Niall hit the table with an open palm. “What’s wrong with a death grip? I’m with you Lou.” He held his fist in the air in an act of solidarity even though Louis glared at him. “Death grip brothers.”

“Can I finish please?” Louis shouted over the din. He waited for the room to quiet before speaking again. “I am a master of the _art_ of bartering. Is that better?”

“Bullshit, so listen—” Harry said. Louis started to protest but was cut off. “No, you zip it, Tommo. I’m telling the story.”

Louis raised both eyebrows and pressed his lips together. “Go on, Doc.”

“So we’d get these MREs, right? Meals Ready to Eat AKA Meals Rejected by the Enemy?” Harry grinned. “We’d get coffee, tea, hot cocoa, apple cider. Whatever the food was, we’d get some sort of powdered drink. We’d also get some sort of dessert. Skittles, a cookie, something like that.”

“And I like cookies,” Louis said. He picked up a snickerdoodle and pouted. “This story sounds so stupid if you’re not there.”

Harry’s voice rose. “Yes, and Tommo here likes cookies.”

Liam grinned and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “Always has.”

“So the best coffee,” Louis said, slowing down his speech and closing his eyes, “was Irish Cappuccino.”

“The drink of my ancestors,” Niall said, holding up his glass of milk. “Long live the Irish.”

“A moment of silence for Niall’s ancestors.” Harry held a finger to his lip. “And shh, I’m telling the story. Irish Cappuccino was gold. We’d save it up, trade it for what we wanted—oh, sometimes we traded our MREs with other NATO troops, too.”

“The regular coffee was OK, but it could have tasted better,” Louis said.

“So Tommo asks his mom to start sending him flavored coffee creamer.”

Niall’s head bounced from Harry to Louis. “Flavored coffee creamer?”

“Yep,” Louis said, nodding. “Brilliant, right?”

Harry laughed. “His mom was spending money to send flavored coffee creamer. Not books or duct tape or socks or cards or anything else the rest of us wanted—but non-dairy creamer. And boy, when the holiday flavors came out—”

“Almond Joy!” Louis said.

Harry pointed at him. “You nearly lost an arm over that one.” He turned back to Niall and Liam, who both wore bemused expressions. “He actually portioned the creamer out in little plastic baggies. Wrote on them. ‘Quarter cup hazelnut,’ ‘two tablespoons pumpkin spice.’ And then he traded the baggies. For MRE cookies and candy.”

“So you made the best stuff worth more,” Niall said. He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s so smart.”

Harry pointed at Niall. “It gets better! Then he started manipulating the shipments, telling his mom to wait—”

“I did not, the package got lost in the mail.”

Harry put his hands on his knees, leaned forward, and narrowed his eyes. “You are a fucking liar. You had a monopoly and you manipulated everyone.”

Liam’s jaw dropped. “You were a drug dealer!”

“Something like that,” Louis said.

“For cookies,” Liam said.

Louis shrugged, his arms still folded across his chest. “I like cookies.”

“I still don’t get the Monster thing,” Niall said.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” Harry said. “So someone—was it Patel? Chopra?”

“You still thinking of Chopra?” Louis wiggled his eyebrows at Harry. “You always did like him. Had big hands.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“You know it wasn’t Chopra! Was Patel, he was—man, he did not like me.” Louis shook his head and chuckled.

“Yeah, so Patel just loses it one day because Tommo wouldn’t give him creamer without some cookies. ‘Who do you think you are? Goddamn fucking Cookie Monster? Me want cookie! Om nom nom nom. You selfish prick!’”

“Trading isn’t selfish,” Louis said with a shrug.

Niall held up a hand. “Wait, did he really imitate Cookie Monster?”

“Yep.”

“So everyone started calling him Cookie Monster. Over time it got shortened to just Monster.” Harry raised both eyebrows at Louis and put his hands on his hips. “How’d I do?”

A smile curled on Louis’ lips. He shifted his weight, switched the way his ankles were crossed, and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “You done good, Doc.” Louis’ stomach felt warm, and his ears burned. “Perfect.”

Harry bounced his head from side to side a few times. “Should’ve trusted me,” he said, smiling widely.

Liam’s eyes traveled from Louis to Harry and then to Niall. He stared at Niall and yawned loudly. “Well, now that I finally know the story behind that, I’m ready for bed. What about you, Ni?”

Niall held Liam’s stare and tilted his head the tiniest bit toward their two friends. “I’m tired, too, and if we leave now, we don’t have to clean up the cookies.”

“No fair!”

“I’ll clean up,” Harry said softly. He nodded at Louis. “You can go to bed, too.”

“I’m not tired yet.”

“OK, well, night. Oh, you can keep the screen doors open overnight if you want. It’ll help keep the house cool,” Niall said.

“OK, we’ll take care of everything.” Harry slid off the counter.

“Thanks again for hosting us,” Louis said. He opened the cupboards and pulled down a large serving platter. “Hey! Niall, do you have any playing cards?”

“Yep, they’re with the games over by the TV. I’m going to take the master bedroom upstairs. Liam? You want the guest room upstairs or one of them downstairs?”

“I already claimed the upstairs room.”

“Gentlemen, you’re getting the guest rooms downstairs—they share a bathroom. It has two doors, so make sure they’re both locked if you don’t want to get walked in on.” Niall waved and clomped up the stairs, Liam following.

“Want some help?” Harry stood next to Louis, his eyes shining. “Those cookies were really good.”

“Can you find the cling wrap or tin foil?” While Harry dug through drawers, Louis stacked the cookies into a pyramid on the platter, careful not to break them.

“Bingo,” Harry said, handing Louis a tube of Saran Wrap. “Guess you want me to grab some cards?”

“Yeah, want some beer?”

Harry padded into the living room and called over his shoulder, “Yes, please. What do you want to play?”

“Solitaire?”

“I’ll set it up.” While Louis cleaned the cookie sheets and bowls, Harry set up the cards and sat down so he was facing the lake. A narrow strand of light wove through the trees, night finally falling. “Ready.”

“I’m coming.” Louis took two beers from the fridge. He dimmed the lights over the table, leaving a warm glow that was just enough to see by. He pulled out a chair next to Harry. “One deck?”

“I can get a second deck.” Harry moved a card.

Louis opened a bottle and handed it to him. “No, don’t need it. Move that one.” He tapped a card and opened his own bottle, taking a long drag. Louis looked through the screen doors. “It’s so quiet up here.”

“I know, I’m glad we came.”

They sat shoulder to shoulder, taking turns moving the cards. They’d learned to play solitaire together in Afghanistan, and they barely spoke. There was no need. When they failed at the first game, Louis shuffled the deck and Harry grabbed himself a second beer. Louis dealt out the cards and moved a few. “One card or three?”

“One, it’s late.”

Louis groaned quietly. “Too easy.”

Harry sat down. “Easy is OK, sometimes.” He gulped down some beer.

“Fair enough.” Louis nodded and moved a stack, leaving an empty spot. “Look under that king and see what card we’d have left.”

“Cheater,” Harry said, peeking. “Ace!”

“Easy is OK, sometimes.” Louis moved the king to the empty stack and Harry moved the ace above the setup. “And if I’m cheating, it’s a good cheat.”

Harry flipped single cards over, both of their eyes searching the stacks.

_Thwiff, crack! Pop pop, fizz._

Harry jumped and Louis cringed. “What the fuck?” Louis pushed his chair out quickly, the feet skittering across the tile.

Harry pressed a hand to his chest and breathed hard. “It’s fireworks, right?”

“Pretty sure. I’m going to turn out the light so I can see.” Louis dimmed the chandelier all the way. He stood at the screen door. Harry stood next to him, his breathing still fast. Louis pointed. “See? They’re over there. Across the lake.”

Another firework was sent up, the colors blooming in the sky. Sparks fell toward the lake, and the scent of sulfur stained the air. Harry whispered, “Do you want to go outside?” His breath was warm and smelled like beer.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I want to make sure nobody comes too close.”

Louis undid the latch and slid the door open, Harry following behind him with both their drinks. “Sit down on the steps?”

“Mm.” The wood on the top step sagged under Harry’s weight as Louis sat down. Harry handed him his beer. “Here.”

A mess of voices traveled over the lake. Louis tried to understand, but nothing was discernible. He remembered people shouting from a distance once, their Pashto interpreter tense and quiet until he could puzzle out what was being said. Louis wondered where he was now.

When his eyes adjusted to the dark, he held the neck of his bottle out. “Cheers.”

Harry clinked his bottle against Louis’ and inhaled deeply. The moon was nearly full, about to sink behind the trees. The muggy heat of the day had been replaced by a cooler evening that was almost enough to make them shiver. A warbling, crying noise echoed over the water. “What are those called?”

Louis smiled. “Loons. They’re our state bird. You know the state coins? They’re the thing on the back of ours. They have red eyes, black and white bodies. Their call…it’s eerie.”

As if showing off, some loons started wailing. _Whoo hooo-ooh-ooooh_. A wolf’s call in a bird’s body. Another firework went off and their call changed to a panicked warbling.

“They sound like they’re laughing and crying,” Harry said, “all at the same time.”

“Yeah, it’s haunting isn’t it? They’re called loons because they sound crazy—like they came from the loony bin.”

Harry looked at Louis. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Wait until you hear one of the males yodel. They really do sound crazy.” Louis tipped back his beer, the rest of it slipping down his throat. He put the bottle down behind him on the deck. “They’re not even ducks. I don’t know what they are, but they’re kind of like penguins.”

Harry sipped his drink in silence. A series of fireworks went off, human cheers and loons’ cries mingling together. The people laughed and their voices got dimmer. “They’re leaving.”

“Mm.” Louis rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “The loons should calm down, then. We might be able to hear coyotes.” He slapped at some mosquitoes. “You need more bug dope, or you OK?”

“I’m OK.” Harry draped his body over his knees, slumping forward, the bottle held loosely in his fingers. He took a deep breath and held it for a few moments before exhaling with a whoosh. “Do you ever feel loony?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… Nobody else can understand. None of your civvy friends. Niall, Liam, they’re great, but—”

Louis waved a hand to stop him. “Yeah. They can’t get it. They just don’t.” He swallowed hard. “You know what I hate being told?”

“‘Thanks for your service?’”

Louis tipped his head toward Harry. “That, yes. But what I really hate is being told I’m one of the lucky ones. ‘You’re not dead! You’re one of the lucky ones!’”

 _Thump thump thump._ Harry drummed his bottle against his shin. “But we are, aren’t we?”

Harry’s voice had a harshness to it that made Louis' stomach churn. He cast Harry a sidelong glance. “ _Are_ we?” Louis closed his eyes, lights flashing on his lids, even in the dark. Open your eyes, but don’t look at him, don’t look at him. “You can see my scar. What about yours?”

Harry stilled the bottle and sat up. He drained all of his beer and tossed the bottle onto the grass before lacing his fingers together, letting his hands drop between his legs. “MacIntyre, did you hear about him?”

“The medic?” Louis shook his head. “Last I heard was a few months back, maybe? His wife had their daughter. What’d they name her? Hannah, I think.”

“He, uh,” Harry’s voice broke. “Shot himself. Last week.”

“No,” Louis moaned. “No.”

“Neighbor found him.” Harry fixed his jaw in a tight line that was visible even in the pale light. “Second medic to go that way.”

“I’m so sorry, Doc.”

“So yeah. We’re not the lucky ones.” Harry pressed his palms hard against his eyes.

“His daughter… She’s just a baby… Oh, Mac…” Louis brushed the backs of his hands roughly across his face, smearing moisture against his cheeks.

“Do you keep any firearms at home?” Harry’s voice was muffled, his forearms blocking the sound.

Louis stiffened. “Styles…you’re not…” Don’t panic, don't say they’re at Niall’s, don’t give it away.

“Oh God, no, no. But I, I don’t want them around.” Harry shook his head and rubbed his hands against his knees. He looked at Louis, his eyes wild and red. “No. And you’re not—right?”

The desperation in his voice made Louis’ heart race. “I’m not. No.” He bit his lip, chewed on the inside of his cheek. He started jiggling one leg. “But, I—my stomach hurts. I think I need a shower.”

Harry looked at Louis sideways. “A shower?”

Louis’ heart beat in his ears, just under the sound of his own breathing. It reminded him of a war scene he’d seen in an old movie, of horses galloping in the distance, the sound coming closer. “Yes, I—I just don’t feel well.”

“A shower? Right now? Oh…of course. There’s still some beer, right?” Harry grabbed the railing and stood up, rocking on his feet. He held out his hand and Louis grabbed it, nearly scratching him. Harry pulled him up and opened the door, waving Louis in. “Go take a shower. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Let me get you a beer first.” Louis’ voice shook. He opened the fridge and squinted against the bright white light. Harry turned the kitchen lights on and leaned against the counter, holding his hand out. Louis passed off the bottle, which started sweating almost immediately. “I’ve got—”

“Go,” Harry said. “Your bag’s by the door.”

“Thanks,” Louis said. He looped his left arm through the handles of his heavy backpack and swung it awkwardly over his shoulder. He still packed like home was an ocean away. He tore down the stairs, hoping Niall and Liam were fast asleep.

A large open space and several doors greeted Louis at the bottom of the stairs. He chose the closest bedroom, dropping his bag on the twin bed. It was covered in a blue blanket, a homemade quilt by the looks of it. Louis unzipped his bag, dumping the contents on the bed and floor. He dug through the mess until he found his shampoo and soap. This would be a real shower.

Louis stepped into the bathroom and checked that the other door was locked. The room was a blinding white accented with navy towels. And small washcloths, oh thank God, he hadn’t thought to pack one. Louis rested the soap and shampoo on the edge of the tub and put a towel and washcloth on the toilet lid.

He ran the water as hot as he could stand. Louis wrestled out of his t-shirt and dropped it on the floor. He unzipped his jeans and pushed his pants and briefs off. He clenched his jaw and shook his head, his cock already half hard. Your friend is dead and your fucking dick’s hard.

Louis thrust a hand under the water to check the temperature and caught his reflection in the mirror. He angled his body so he could see the scar running from his shoulder halfway down his back. Most of it was smooth enough, flanked by the pinprick marks of stitches. But parts of it were honeycombed and pockmarked from the shrapnel, the tissue pulled and webbed. Louis stretched his left hand over his shoulder, reaching to touch the damage.

He exhaled hard and stepped into the shower, the navy shower curtain blocking him from the mirror. He stood under the water, steam billowing up around his face. He ran his fingers through his hair and then squeezed some shampoo into his palm and rubbed it in. A shower, this is just a shower.

Louis grabbed the bar of soap and flipped it over in his hands, working up a lather. He ran it over his arms and torso and scratched the fine hairs trailing below his waist. This is just a shower. Louis’ groin jumped in protest, his dick pressing close to his stomach. He slammed the soap into the soap dish.

Louis turned so the hot water ran over his back and shoulders, shampoo and soap bubbles running over his nipples, sliding down his ribcage before racing down his legs. He pressed both hands against the wall and started counting. One, two, in. Three, four, out. The water turned clear, and Louis groaned.

This isn’t just a shower, dammit.

He reached for his dick with his right hand, first circling his fingers loosely around himself. Then Louis squeezed hard, trying to dig his nails in. He yanked quickly and lost his grip.

Louis bent his elbow, pressing his forearm against the wet tile. He rested his forehead against his arm, water escaping his hairline and dripping off his lashes. Fucking Mac. How could he do that? Louis brushed water from his cock, trying to get a better grip.

Joking about a death grip. What death grip? He escaped death and lost the grip.

He lifted his head from his arm, stared at his dick, and tried again. Wrap, squeeze, and pull.

His hand slipped.

Louis grunted, hit the tile with his palm and stepped away from the wall. He bent over, hands on his knees. Now his own body was betraying him. He used to be able to do this so quickly, short showers forcing him to be brief. Louis reached for the shower head and pushed it up so the spray was indirect, mostly hitting the opposite wall. Remember to fix that before you leave.

He pushed the shower curtain back. The colder air made him flinch. Louis reached for the washcloth and pulled the curtain closed again, breathing shallowly. He stood under the shower and shivered. Now that water wasn’t beating directly on his skin, his nipples hardened, the fresh, cool air mixing with the hot steam in the curtained space.

Louis wiped his hands with the small cloth, then rubbed it against his pubes and finally his dick. His fingertips ran over the head of his cock. Warm. Dry. Friction.

His eyes fluttered closed and he rocked on his heels. Friction.

Eyes still closed, Louis passed the washcloth to his left hand. He made a fist around it and pushed his forearm against the tile again. With his legs spread and hips squared, he grabbed himself. Just need to get this done.

The rough skin of his hand felt good against his swollen dick. He curled his fingers around himself and pulled.

His hand stayed.

After a shuddery breath, he moved his hand back firmly. He pulled again—it stayed. Louis nuzzled his face into the crook of his arm and chased a rhythm.

Fuck you Afghanistan. A forward jerk. Fuck you Mac. A backward tug. Fuck you IED. Pull. Fuck you hand. Back.

Louis started shaking his head from side to side, still pressed into his arm. He worked himself faster, his thoughts racing. Fuck the sandbox, fuck the politicians. Fuck his shoulder. Fuck that hipster asshole who wouldn’t quit asking him how many people he’d killed, fuck the empty whiskey bottle and late night post-blow job small talk when all he wanted to do was run back home. Louis lifted his head and opened his mouth wide. He bit the inside of his arm, trying to silence the noises coming from his throat. Fuck his scar fuck his grip fuck the VA fuck Doc blaming himself fuck the shoulder pain fuck his stupid goddamn fucking self for needing this right now—

 _Fuck_.

His eyes flew open and he swayed in place. His hand was covered in pearly streaks. Louis slowed his strokes, his dick still throbbing and coming in small spurts. He pressed his forehead against the cool tile until he finished, until his heartbeat was mostly normal.

Louis let go of himself and stumbled back, dropped the washcloth. He pulled the shower head down and watched as everything swirled and rinsed down the drain.

He turned off the spray and used his hands to sweep water off of his body. He looked at his cock, now lazy, soft. Spent.

Louis picked up the towel and rubbed himself vigorously. He glared at the mirror and jutted his chin up, challenging his own reflection. “Fuck you, too.”

Tossing the towel on the floor, he walked into his bedroom, leaving wet footprints on the wood. He found his soft nylon track pants and put them on. A white ribbed tank top wouldn’t cover all of the mark. But most of it, most of it.

Louis crept up the stairs. He stood at the landing and looked at Harry’s back. He was seated at the table, his shoulders curled forward. The glass doors were closed and he didn't need to ask why.

When Louis spoke, his voice was gravely, but his words were slippery and loose. “Hi. I’m done.”

Harry cleared his throat, and turned around. “Feel better?”

“No.” Louis opened the cupboards and found two glasses, which he filled with tap water. He put them on the table and tilted his head toward the two brown bottles in front of Harry. “You better?”

“No. And I took the last bottle.”

“You still want a can?”

Harry looked up, his eyes puffy and pink. His voice was raspy. “Yeah, Monster, I do.”

“Shuffle the cards while I get one.” Louis turned before he could see Harry’s nod, but he heard the tapping of the deck against the table, followed by the soft flapping of the cards being pressed together. He popped the tab on the beer and put it on the table. “Maybe this will help.”

“I hope so,” Harry said, handing Louis the cards.

Louis counted the cards out for solitaire. “It’s OK if it doesn’t. Nobody else knows.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “Just us, Doc.”

 

**August 2014**

“I still don’t get it,” Harry said. He pressed his cheek against the window. The car was moving too fast and the lights became jerky streamers running past him. His stomach roiled. “Li’s house was fine, he could—”

“Don’t worry, he knows you’re with me.”

“But what…” Harry closed his eyes.

“Styles? You awake?”

Harry moaned. “I’m not good.”

Louis pulled off the interstate. “Almost home, can you make it? Need a gas station?”

“No, no.” Harry looked at Louis. The streetlights threw flickering shadows on his cheeks. Harry shook his head. “Stop, stop.”

Louis pulled a hard right turn into a gas station. He sped to the far corner of the lot, putting the car in park so fast it rocked. Harry groaned. Louis unsnapped his seat belt and moved so his knees were on the center console. He unfastened Harry’s seat belt and pushed the door open.

Louis dug his fingers into Harry’s shoulders and twisted his body toward the open door. “Lean over.”

Harry sank into Louis’ grip and did as he was told. He retched and heaved, the sharp scent of alcohol and the sour bile in his throat both ugly reminders of his evening. He sputtered and coughed. “I need—my mouth…” Harry raised his hand to his face.

Fingers grasped his wrist.

Warm, strong.

“Don’t.” Louis pulled Harry’s hand down to the seat. He patted his hand into place. “I have napkins, gimme a sec.” The glove compartment door hit Harry’s knee, but he didn’t react.

The pressure against Harry’s lips surprised him and he jerked back, his head hitting Louis solidly in the chest. He batted at the air, his wrist flopping. “I can—”

“Stop it! No you can’t!”

Harry slumped and let Louis rub his face. Louis crumpled up the napkin and threw it onto the asphalt. “I’m sorry, I’m so gross,” Harry said. He started crying. “I’m just really… I hurt.”

“I know, Doc. I know.”

“You got so mad…”

“He was a goddamn ass.” Louis leaned back, let go of Harry’s shoulder. “Do you need to puke again?”

“Not now.” Harry shook his head, turning away from the mess, away from the smell, and toward Louis’ face. “Had nice hair.”

“Can I leave you here for a sec?” Louis put a stack of napkins on Harry’s lap. “I’ll be back, don’t close the door.”

“I… OK.” Harry’s mind raced and images flashed among the fuzziness in his head. Tommo. That man. A text to Liam. Busy cabs. Long wait. Doc. Raised voices. Doc. Shot glasses. John cleaning the bar around Harry. Doc.

Harry heard water splashing. He rolled his head toward the noise and opened his eyes. Louis was pouring water on the ground and on the edge of his car. The scent dissipated and Louis tossed the empty gallon jug on the grass behind him. “I brought you water, and crackers. Try to drink something. It’s a sports bottle, so you won’t spill. I can get juice, if that’s better.”

Harry nodded and Louis tore the plastic off the cap and pulled the spout open. “I can,” Harry said, holding a hand out.

Louis ignored him and brought the water to his mouth. Harry took a few sips and then shook his head from side to side. “OK, it’s OK,” Louis said. He closed the cap and put the bottle on the seat next to Harry. He opened the box of crackers and handed Harry two of them. “Try.” Louis sat down on the curb and crossed his arms over his knees.

Harry chewed on the crackers slowly. He felt for the bottle and got it before Louis could help. “See? I’m fine.”

“Let’s wait a few minutes. Don’t want you to get sick again.” Louis slapped at mosquitoes while they feasted on Harry freely, making welts rise on his skin. Eventually Louis cleared his throat. “You’re getting bitten, but I don’t have any bug dope here.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“Think you’re ready to go?”

Harry looked at Louis and spoke slowly. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to… I thought you liked him. Why were you so mad? Did I do something wrong?” He rubbed tears from his eyes. “God, my head really hurts.”

“Do you want to sit up or do you want the seat down?” Louis stood up and brushed off his jeans.

“I’m OK,” Harry whispered. His head pounded. Doc. Don’t call him that. It’s OK. You sure you want another? Harry felt Louis move him around, rearrange his knees, tuck his hands together on his lap. When Louis leaned across him to click the seat belt into place, he braced his left hand on Harry’s thigh. Harry rubbed the pad of his thumb against the inside of Louis’ wrist. “Can you drive a little slowly?”

“Yeah. I’ll roll down the windows, too.”

“Mm, thanks.”

Louis patted Harry’s thigh. “Let me know if we need to stop. We’re about fifteen minutes from home.”

Louis started the car, and pulled out of the lot smoothly. Harry slouched down, making himself small. His knees splayed, one against the door, the other bumping into Louis’ fist as he shifted. Soothing darkness surrounded him as he listened to the rhythmic whirring of the tires and wind.

Crunching gravel.

Ground shifting, slip sliding. Harry’s body jerked. A flash of light, a rumble, a blast of sand stinging his face. Harry pawed at his cheeks, mumbling, “No, no. Too hot.” His head drooped as shouting roared through his ears. “Stop shouting.”

“Doc?” Louis’ voice was distant, tinny and echoing. “Nobody’s shouting.”

The smell of rubber and blood and heavy smoke filled Harry’s nostrils. Metal on his tongue, he heard himself shouting from far away. It’s OK, you’re OK, just a little burn! His breathing grew fast and hard. Look at me, don’t close yo—

“Eyes open, you’re home, we’re here.” A hand clamped hard on Harry’s shoulder. “Styles!”

His eyes flew open and he gasped. “There—”

“You’re not.” Louis clutched both of Harry’s shoulders and shook him. “You’re not there.” Harry’s torso pitched forward and Louis caught him in an awkward hug. “You’re not there.”

Harry buried his head in Louis’ shoulder. The bad shoulder. Pineapple shampoo. Limes? Something saltier, too. Sweat. Harry choked out a sob. “It won’t go away.”

Louis’ hands knotted in his hair. “No, it won’t.” He rubbed his fingertips against Harry’s scalp. Harry was reminded of his mom washing his hair when he was young, which only made him cry harder. His breathing finally evened out. Louis broke the silence. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I got your shirt wet.”

“I know.”

Harry opened the door and sat on the edge of the seat. An arm snaked tightly around his waist and he was standing. He felt light, Louis the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. “I need to take a leak.”

“Fuck—”

“Sorry.” Harry sniffed.

“Not mad. Can you just do it here?”

Harry swayed and nodded. “Yeah.” He fumbled with his button and zipper, finally undoing them. He frowned at Louis. “Turn around.”

Louis threw his hands in the air. “It’s dark!” He turned around. “Fine, fine.”

Harry emptied his bladder and zipped himself back up. “Better.” He stumbled toward the stairs, catching the rough wooden handrail. Louis joined him, hand around his arm this time.

Inside the house, Louis nudged Harry toward his room. “Go to bed.”

Dragging a hand along the wall, Harry meandered to his bedroom. He collapsed on the futon mattress and took off his shoes and socks. He had his jeans half off when Louis entered with a large bowl, a glass of water, and a plate of food. Louis put the water and plate on the nightstand before putting the bowl on the floor. Harry leaned over. “What’s that?”

“A banana and some honey on toast.” Louis tapped the ceramic bowl. “And, you know, in case you need it.”

“We make cookie dough in that.”

“Guess you can’t get sick then.” Louis looked at Harry’s legs, tangled in his jeans. “You gonna sleep like that?”

“I have shoes.” Harry looked up at Louis. “We always take off our shoes.”

“It’s OK tonight,” Louis said. He took the shoes and tossed them into the hall. “I’ll put them away.”

“OK.” Harry looked at his knees. “Jeans’re really tight and bending over hurts.”

Louis grasped the hems and yanked, making Harry’s body jolt. “Hands up,” Louis commanded. He tugged off Harry’s shirt, leaving him in his black briefs. “At least you’re wearing underwear.”

Harry stood up and Louis pulled the blankets back. Harry flopped onto the bed and narrowed his eyes, trying to focus. “Why wouldn’t I wear skivvies?”

“You’d be surprised at how many men don’t.” Louis’ brows shot up and he chuckled.

The sheets were cool and the blanket was light. Harry’s head was thumping and Louis was scanning his books, choosing one. He turned off the light on Harry’s side of the bed and stretched out on top of the covers next to him. Harry curled into a ball, facing Louis. Louis who smelled like limes and salt and pineapples and honey. “Are you mad at me?

Louis didn’t look up from the pages of the book. _Hiroshima_. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Why do you…” Harry stopped and pointed at Louis. “Not answer me?”

Louis put the book down and rolled onto his side, facing Harry. “He was an ass.”

“He was cute. All those tattoos. I know you like tats.”

Louis scrunched up his nose. “I do? I don’t even have tattoos.”

“Don’t have to have them to like them.”

“OK, yeah, I do like them.” Louis studied Harry. “Would you ever get one?”

“Maybe.” Harry blinked heavily and yawned. “But why didn’t you go with him? Liam was waiting. The taxi was coming. What went wrong?”

“You drank so much tonight. Why?” Louis’ voice was hushed. “You don’t usually get sick.”

Harry picked at the blanket and looked at his hands. “Been having nightmares.”

“As it gets closer?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“You should sleep.” Louis pointed at the light on his side of the bed. “OK if I read a little or will it bug you? Don’t want—I want to be here if you get sick again.”

“Can sleep anywhere after the fucking sandbox.” Harry rolled over. “Still haven’t told me why you’re mad.”

“It’s not important.”

There was a fleeting thought—Harry couldn’t catch it. Like quicksilver, it kept rolling away, slipping through his memory. He closed his eyes and tucked his chin against his neck. He fell asleep dreaming of mercury and vodka, rubber tires and playing cards.

He woke up thinking of Louis’ tight-set jaw and stormy eyes. He rubbed his face and licked his lips, his mouth furry and sickly sweet. A soft wheezing sound came from Louis, who was asleep in his clothes, the book open on his chest.

Harry forced himself to sit up. He drank some water and picked at the banana. He rubbed his jaw and yawned. He spoke, his voice barely audible. “Monster.”

Louis didn’t stir.

Harry ate half of the honey toast, even though the bread was soft and the edges of the honey were crunchy, washing it down with the rest of the water. He cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “Monster.”

Louis groaned and shifted, rolling toward Harry. The nightstand light he’d left on made a halo around his head. “You sick?”

“You mad ’cause he bought me drinks? You never drink much, but you. He liked you.”

“That’s not it.” Louis looked everywhere but at Harry. He finally said, “He called you ‘Doc.’”

The air in his bedroom was thick, just like it had been in the bar. The man—blond, tan skin, muscled, inked—had laughed and chatted with them both. Doc, you text Liam? A smirk. He leaned forward. Doc, eh? Harry smiled and nodded. An old nickname, no big deal, you can call me Harry. Want a shot, Doc? Vodka OK? What’s up, Doc? Want to check my temperature, Doc? Drinks flowed. Shot after shot. Tommo had gotten more and more agitated.

Harry yawned. “I am Doc.”

“No, you’re not.”

Harry sighed. “You call me Doc.”

“He’s not me.”

This was a riddle Harry couldn’t figure out. “Nobody else is you.”

Louis rolled onto his back, resting his fingers on his abdomen. His jaw was tight. “Exactly.”

“I got drunk, but you didn’t go… Is that…”

“I’m not an animal, Styles.” Louis pushed himself up and put the book on the table, pressed open to the page he was on. “I should let you sleep.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his hands firm against the mattress.

“Can you…” Harry pulled the sheet up to his neck and held his breath, waiting. Tommo would understand. He would know.

“You worried about more?” Louis looked over his shoulder. “Nightmares, I mean.”

Harry released his breath and nodded. Tommo always knew.

Louis went to the closet and took out a thin blanket. He tossed it on the bed and looked at Harry. “Turn around.”

Harry shook his head. Louis was making fun of him. “It’s my room!” He rolled over. “Fine, fine.”

He heard a zipper and then cloth falling to the ground. Louis chuckled. “At least I’m not pissing on the floor.” He lay on top of the bedspread in his boxers and t-shirt and shook the blanket over himself before turning off the light.

Harry shifted onto his back and rested his arms above his head. He sighed.

“Night, Doc.”

Harry opened his mouth, grateful for the dark. “Monster?”

“Yeah?”

A shaky sigh. “Glad you took me home with you.”

Just when Harry had decided Louis had fallen asleep, just when Harry was about to fall asleep himself, he heard the faintest whisper.

“Me too.”


	3. Fall

**September 2014**

Louis pressed his palms flat against the bathroom stall and closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so distracted while getting a blow job.

Fucking Styles.

Louis groaned and the man kneeling in front of him sucked harder. Yeah, sure, that could be a sound of pleasure and not frustration. Whatever. Louis half-heartedly bucked his hips.

The house had been tense all week, hell, maybe for a month. Bottles overflowed the recycling bin. Louis had been gone nearly every evening, thank you strangers. And every single thing was irritating. The cookies got burnt, the sun was too hot, his mom wouldn’t stop calling, Niall’s sheep wouldn’t stop bleating, and Liam kept texting to see if he was OK.

Was he OK?

Maybe if he could skip this week, or this weekend, or just today.

Louis’ stomach dropped and his breathing quickened. At least his body was working, despite his mind being elsewhere. In the kitchen, in strange bedrooms, in the sandbox. That goddamn sandbox.

Was he OK. What a stupid fucking question.

Louis tapped the man’s shoulder and he nodded and held fast. Fine, if that was how this was going to be. Louis tipped his own head back, hitting the wall hard. He palmed the man’s head—Tom? Todd? Ted?—with one hand and pumped into his mouth.

Finished, Louis stroked the man’s hair a few times, smiling. “That was nice,” he lied. Louis looked at Ted or Travis or Tate. “Thanks, that was exactly what I needed tonight.”

Tate or Troy or Terry said, “Well, if you want we could go back—”

“Ooh, sorry, can’t.” Louis fastened his pants and pulled the stall door open. “Maybe next time.” He rinsed his hands in the sink, wiped them on his jeans, and pushed his way onto the crowded dance floor.

Louis looked down, trying to ignore the annoying strobe lights. He shouldered his way between two men at the bar and waved for John’s attention.

“Oohrah, Lou.” John looked around. “Where’s Haz? Haven’t seen him all night.”

Louis sucked air through his teeth and looked at the ceiling. “He’s at home.”

“Home? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here alone. Have you ever been here alone?” Louis cringed and John’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit, did you break up? Were you a couple? I didn’t think—”

Louis held up a hand. “No, we’re just friends.” He opened his mouth, realized he didn’t know what he wanted to say, and closed it.

John put a hand on his hip and cocked his head, studying Louis. “You want a Coke?”

“Yeah.”

John poured the Coke and gestured for Louis to go to the very end of the bar. John whispered something to the three men seated there. They left with some eye rolls and huffs and Louis sat down in the last seat. “They weren’t buying anything anyhow. Piss or get off the fucking pot, right?” John shrugged and slid the Coke across to Louis. “So. What’s up?”

Louis twisted his mouth to the side and spun his glass around on the bar, the condensation collecting on his hands. “Got my Purple Heart. A year ago. Well, not the ceremony, but, you know.” He twirled a finger around in the air. “Whee.”

John’s head bobbed slowly. “Let me guess: He was there?”

“His Humvee was behind mine. Mine got hit. His did not.” Louis took several gulps of his Coke.

John turned and made some gesture to a coworker. When the coworker flashed him a thumbs up, he leaned against the bar, fully ignoring everyone else. “Tell me to fuck off if you want, right?” Louis nodded. “Do you remember much?”

“Not really, but still too much, y’know?” Louis finally looked at John. “And I think I’m annoyed at how much I can’t remember.”

“What about Haz?”

Louis raised his eyebrows and nodded. “He remembers a lot more than me. Lot more. Like all of it.” Louis drank more of his soda. “He worked on my shoulder, couldn’t dig out some ball bearings, some other shit. Got a limited range of motion and my grip is a little…” He opened and closed his right hand in a fist.

“He’s got guilt.”

“Yep.”

“You sure you don’t want anything harder?” John said, gesturing to Louis’ glass. When he shook his head no, John refilled the Coke and passed it over. “So he’s…”

Louis spread his arms out and shrugged. “He really didn’t want to go out. I really didn’t want to stay in. Here we are.” Louis rubbed his fingers through his hair. “Fought about it all week, actually.”

John looked at the people milling around. “Well. You ready to go home or you staying a little longer?” He nodded toward someone. “’Cause that guy’s been checking you out the whole time we’ve been talking.”

Louis looked over his shoulder to find a tall, broad-shouldered redhead staring at him. He looked at John and smiled. “Could stay.”

“I’ll be around if you need me,” John said with a wink. He spun in his heel. “But hey, make sure you check in on Haz tonight, yeah?”

“Will do.” Louis glanced at the man a second time and waited, nursing his drink. Before he could turn around again, the man was sitting next to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Louis said.

“Eric,” the man said, holding out a hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, mister…?”

Louis smirked. “Sure, that works.”

Eric didn’t even attempt to get a real name out of him. He just started talking. A half an hour later, Louis was wishing he’d left when he had the chance.

“So yeah, I started importing paintball supplies from China, and then reselling them on eBay.” Eric flashed a toothy smile. “And that’s how I was making the mid-six figures before getting my college degree.”

Louis downed his Coke. “Uh huh.” He stared at John’s back. He’d been stuck at the other end of the bar, dealing with some very needy, very drunk patrons for too long. “So did you ever finish your degree?”

Eric tapped Louis’ glass with his manicured nail. “Do you need a drink? My treat.”

“Please,” Louis said. Alcohol was the only thing that was going to redeem this conversation. “Rum and Coke.”

“I’ll be right back,” Eric said. “Bartender looks busy. I’ll go to him.”

“Sure,” Louis said, pulling his phone out. _Styles. I’ll be coming home soon, need anything?_ Louis waited, thumbing mindlessly across the screens. Eric returned and Louis took the drink. “Thanks.”

“No problem, you seem a little tense. Everything OK?”

Louis slipped his phone in his pocket and took a sip. “Fine.”

“Yeah, so after I started making money, then I started to really focus on SEO—you know what that is?” Louis feigned ignorance so Eric would keep talking. Then he could drink in peace. “Search engine optimization, when you try to make your site the top in search engine ranking. You know, most people don’t know…”

Louis nursed his drink and tuned Eric out. As soon as he was done with this drink, he’d go home. He counted the bottles behind the bar to distract himself. Thirty-seven. He started mentally singing. Thirty-seven bottles of beer on the wall… When he got down to zero, he recounted them.

At the seventeenth bottle, Louis’ head wouldn’t stay up. His eyes were heavy and his vision was a bit blurry. Louis stared at the bottle, willed himself to keep counting. Eighteen. Nineteen. Louis’ breathing slowed down. Twenty. Twenty-one. Fuck, this drink was stronger than John normally made.

“—my mom really wants me to get my degree, just got one history class left—”

“I gotta piss,” Louis said, pushing his hands against the bar and sliding out of his seat. His feet hit the floor and his knees buckled.

“Hey, hey, you OK?” Eric said, scooping Louis up under the arms.

“I just, bathroom,” Louis mumbled.

Louis stumbled over his own feet. He stared at his shoes. One, two, in—no, that wasn’t right. _One, two, three, four! United States Marine Corps!_ Step. Step. Blood rushed in Louis’ ears. _They say that in the Marine Corps, the coffee’s mighty fine, it looks like muddy water, and tastes like turpentine._ Louis took a leaden step and swayed.

“I’ll take you there, mister,” Eric said, towing Louis away from the bar.

Left, right, left, right, left. Behind. Behind. No, behind.

“Gotta piss,” Louis dragged his feet and tried to turn his hips, but failed.

Breath on his ear. “Relax, mister, I’ve got you, it’s OK.”

Louis was floating. “Toilet’s over there…wrong, no.” He couldn’t hear himself. His tongue was moving too slowly. His arm was twisted behind him and his shoulder throbbed.

“Where the fuck are you going?” a thick voice called. A friend. _Back in 1775, my Marine Corps came alive._

“He’s drunk, I’m taking him home.”

“Bullshit, what the fuck did you give him?” _First there came the color blue, to show the world that we are true._

“He needed to loosen up a lit—”

“GHB, Special K, a roofie? What the fuck did you give him?” _Next there came the color red, to show the world the blood we shed._ John lunged. “Get the hell out of my bar!”

Let go, Louis’ body slumped to the floor. “What the fuck, he your boyfr—” A cracking noise, loud gasps. “You fucking punched me!” Eric’s body hit the ground. John’s hips trapped him at the waist. His shoulders and head were slammed against the ground.

“Get out of here right fucking now or I’ll fucking kill you!” John rolled off of him, his knuckles scraped and bloodied. _Finally there came the color green, to show the world that we are mean._ “Get the hell out!”

“Fuck you, man!” Spitting, tripping.

“Lou, Lou—get the fuck out! Yes, go!” A hand swatting at his face. “Shit, Lou, stay awake. Need your phone. Fuck, hope you don’t have it locked, shit.” Rummaging through his pockets.

The shouting died out and Doc’s voice filled the room. _One, better do your best. Two, better than the rest. Three, Navy's most decorated Corps. Four, hit the ground running—_

“Oh thank fucking God, Doc,” John muttered. “Jesus, Harry, please answer the phone…”

_One, patient’s bleeding. Two, medivac your buddy. Three, sitting high and mighty. Four._

“…Haz, it’s John from The Rooster…”

_One, two, three, four. United States Navy, Hospital Corps. Hooray, hooray._

 

**Same Night**

“Please stop,” Harry said. They were all crowded in Liam’s bathroom. Harry was seated with his back against the vanity, knees drawn and pressed against the side of the toilet. Louis sagged between the toilet and the tub, and Harry linked one arm through his, holding him mostly upright. “Pacing, I mean.” Trying to hear his murmuring was hard enough without Liam’s nonstop rustling and noise.

Liam paused and scowled at Harry. “No.” He continued wearing a pattern in the white bathroom tile. Harry rolled his eyes and leaned his head closer to Louis’.

Niall sat on the edge of the tub, biting his nails, even though there was nothing left to bite. “Shouldn’t we go to the ER? He’s puked, what, twice already?”

“Marine Corps in the sky, holy hell we're gonna die.” Louis’ voice was weak and childlike.

Harry joined in, tapping out the beat on the floor with his free hand. “What the fuck’s a parachute, I was told to grunt and shoot.”

“Harry’s a medic, he’d know if we should go,” Liam said.

“He doesn’t have any of his stuff, though. And he’s too quiet. Maybe he’s in shock himself.”

Liam took a few steps forward and leaned over Louis, glancing at Harry. “How you holding up?”

“Jesus, I’m not in shock, I’m fine! I’m tired, I’m trying to pay attention and you two won’t shut up!” Harry glared at Liam and Niall while he took several breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer. “He was drugged. It’s been at least two hours. Whatever it was, it probably metabolizes super fast. He’s not having seizures, he’s awake. There’s no point in going unless he gets worse.”

The room fell silent and Harry chewed the inside of his lip. He’d learned about heroin in Afghanistan, not party drugs. He racked his memory. Real roofies were hard to sneak in drinks because they were dyed now. Special K would likely have him slumped completely on the floor. Vomiting, dilated pupils, acting drunk. Probably GHB.

The only problem—one Harry sure as hell wasn’t going to voice—was that the vomiting and saucer pupils and confusion could all be signs of shock as well. Harry studied Louis’ face. Not too much sweating. OK. His skin was pale, but… Harry’s fingers slid down to Louis’ wrist. Strong pulse. Good. Harry pressed his shoulder against Louis’ and closed his eyes so he could focus. Breathing was regular. Thank God. Not shock, not shock.

“Shot once—” Louis started.

“Shot?” Liam’s voice rose. “What’s he saying?”

“—and shot twice. He found a corpsman saved his life.” Harry looked directly at Liam. “He’s doing cadences, you know, marching? I don’t know all of them since I was Navy, but I did PT with them, so I know most of them… Taught him some of ours, too.”

Louis stirred and started coughing. Harry moved quickly, pulling him so he was up on his knees. Through the choking and sputtering, Liam patted Louis on the back while Niall dampened some paper towels and got a small cup of water.

“That’s the third time. At what point do we go to the ER?” Niall handed Harry the paper towels.

“There was almost nothing this time,” Liam said. “I think we should do what Harry wants.”

Harry wiped Louis’ mouth clean and helped him drink water. What Harry wants Harry doesn’t get. Rewind the evening, go out together. Not be so tipsy he couldn’t drive when John called. Rewind the evening, stay home. Rewind the year, dig out all the improvised buckshot, nuts and washers and ball bearings. Or, hey, maybe not witness an IED rip through your buddies’ Humvee. Fix Tommo’s shoulder. His grip. Never join the Navy, but then they wouldn’t’ve met. So. Scratch that.

“Can you two get Tommo’s car from the bar and leave us alone?” Harry pushed Louis against the tub, closed the lid to the toilet, and flushed. “Swear I’ll call nine-one-one if he gets worse.”

“You sure you’re OK?” Liam said.

“I’ve gotta go soon, take care of the animals,” Niall said, checking the time on his phone. “Can I take—”

“Take my car, I can drive his back tomorrow. You got the keys, still?” Harry nudged Louis. “Monster, need your keys.”

“Keys,” Louis repeated.

“Yep, gimme.” Harry dug through Louis’ pockets and tossed the keys to Liam. “Help me get him to the couch before you go. Niall, make me some toast. Please.”

Ten minutes later the house was silent. Louis was on the couch with a wet washcloth on his forehead, still mumbling. Harry sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. He finished eating his honey toast and took Louis’ pulse. Steady. Strong. Harry exhaled a slow, shaky breath.

Then the tight wire inside his rib cage finally snapped.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He started rocking back and forth whispering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Monster. I’m sorry.”

They’d argued over nothing important. He’d stayed home. Only had a few drinks, got Monster’s text, then John’s call. Harry wouldn’t drive, couldn’t risk it. Niall answered first, rushed over, forced Harry to eat a drive-through burger to soak up the beer. Liam beat them both to The Rooster, finding Tommo mumbling, unable to stand. Dead weight.

 _Styles. I’ll be coming home soon, need anything?_ Need to forget. Need help. Need forgiveness. Harry rubbed his eyes. Shit, why didn’t he reply? What if he never got to…

No, no. Stop.

Harry’s vision went watery. He tucked his head against his arms, curling himself into a small ball. He stayed like that for a long time, until he realized Louis had stopped talking. Harry’s stomach dropped. “Tommo,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Tommo.”

He shifted to his knees, pressing his body against the edge of the couch. One hand hovered over Louis’ chest and the other over his stomach. Harry closed his eyes, unable to look. He lowered his hands and waited, his heart thumping wildly in his ears.

His hands rose and fell with slow, even breathing.

“Jesus Christ.” Harry sat down on his heels and sucked in fresh air. “Just sleep, just sleep.”

A memory floated to the surface of Harry’s mind. The first time he’d been asked to call cadence, he’d practiced for days with Monster over MREs. He’d been so nervous, afraid he’d fuck up or run out of breath.

The floor vibrated under him and the steady drumming of boots hitting the ground came from far away. Harry chanted, his voice rising and falling with the pounding, “Somewhere in the desert, in the deep of the night, there’s a US Marine, getting in a firefight.” Harry pushed the washcloth away from Louis’ forehead and brushed his hair out of the way. He felt Louis’ ears, checking for the heat of a fever like his mother used to. The driving bootfalls faded, and the cadence became a quiet hymn. “He don’t need no sympathy, so don’t cha cry him no tears, he’s a US Marine, he’s been doin’ this for years.”

 

**A Few Days Later**

Louis sat on the stairs of the deck, looking over the land he’d leased to a local farmer. The corn was tall, fat and heavy, with wisps of silk dancing from the tops of the stalks. Large clouds gathered in the salmon-pink sky and an occasional breeze kicked up.

Ice bumped against his lips as he sipped cold peppermint tea. Sweat ran down his bare skin and soaked the waistband of his lightweight khakis. He wondered if a storm was going to come up. The ground was parched. It needed it.

Louis sighed. He’d finally had a night of sleep. Real sleep, for the first time in nearly a week.

“Hey.”

“Styles.” Louis didn’t turn around, but he felt the wooden deck bounce under him as Harry approached.

“Tommo. How’re you feeling?” Harry collapsed on the steps and Louis moved to the right to give him a little more space. “You slept a long time last night.”

“Pajama pants already?” Louis poked Harry’s knee and smirked.

Harry shrugged. “Just took a shower. Not going anywhere for the night.” He took a sip from his own glass of tea and nodded at it. “Nice, strong.”

“I’m feeling better. Stomach, head, all of it.” For the first day since that night he hadn’t woken up exhausted or feeling sick. Louis stretched his arms behind him. “But I still can’t remember much. I remember the guy being smug and boring. And that’s it.”

“Apparently John beat the shit out of him.” Harry tugged his lower lip a few times. “The stuff I saw, there’s not anything to tell, really. You were singing cadences, you were really sick.”

“I’m never going to remember it, am I?” Louis turned and gazed at Harry’s profile.

“Probably not.” Harry’s stormy green eyes met Louis’ gaze. His brow was furrowed, and his jaw was set firm, but the softness in his eyes made Louis’ breath catch. “Do you want to?”

Louis dragged his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not sure. Was I really doing cadences?” Harry nodded and Louis shook his head. “So strange.”

“I know. You hated PT.”

Ice clinked against their glasses as the men sat in silence. The sun sank and the sky grew redder. Wind wove through the oak trees that ran along the property line, rustling the dry leaves on the bottoms of the corn stalks.

Louis’ mind raced. I lied to you. I’m worried. I can’t keep this up. I need help. The words were stuck somewhere between his head and his teeth and he didn’t know how to start.

“I…” Harry inhaled sharply through his nose. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Louis forced himself to respond. “Can’t do what?”

Harry reached across his bare chest and rubbed his shoulder absently. “All of it.”

“You…” Louis’ body stiffened and he felt cold all over, despite the late-summer heat. He willed himself to stare straight forward. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You want to go back to Atlanta?”

“No, not at all—that’s… I mean…” Harry’s voice faltered and he looked at his bare toes. “I can go if you want, but I don’t want to.”

Stay stay stay stay. Don’t leave. Nobody else understands. Louis’ thoughts banged around in his head. He swallowed hard and said as lightly as he could muster, “Plenty of room, plenty of time.”

Harry scratched his hand across his torso, the dry noise sending pinpricks up Louis’ spine. “You scared the hell out of me, Tommo.”

“I’m… I don’t know what to say.”

“Not your fault, I know, but…I couldn’t help.”

“But Ni and Li say you did help.”

“I did, sort of,” Harry said reluctantly. “But I needed Niall and Liam’s help because, well…you know. Felt like— _feel like_ —shit because of that. I should’ve been able to do it all.”

“I don’t know that I can be helped.” The wooden steps were weathered grey and splintering. Louis picked at a fat, loose chunk of wood, being careful of his fingers. Harry tilted his head and waited. “I…I lied to you.”

“What?” A deep crease settled above Harry’s nose.

“Remember I told you my therapist said I didn’t need any more help? You told Liam?”

Harry twisted his fingers together. “Yeah? Was I not supposed to tell him?”

“Don’t care about that.” Louis pinched the sharp points of the splinter between his thumb and middle finger. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “He actually dumped me. Said I wasn’t putting in the work.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then?”

Louis shrugged and tossed the splinter into the grass. “I was embarrassed. Who gets kicked out of therapy? I never even got kicked out of class!”

“That does take a special kind of stubborn,” Harry said, a smile playing on his lips. He dropped his voice. “But you didn’t need to hide that from me, you know.”

“I’m… I know.” Louis waved a hand at the volatile sky. Clouds were thickening in the distance and insects whined. “Look at how bottle green it is.”

“How much longer you think we got out here?”

“Five, ten minutes?”

Harry twisted his torso to face Louis. The sudden movement made his body heat swirl around both men. Harry smelled like Ivory soap and wheat shampoo and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He held his left hand up, fingers splayed. “Squeeze my hand.”

Louis lifted up his right hand and looked at it. “What?”

“Want to feel your grip.” Harry wiggled his fingers. “C’mon.”

Working on Niall’s farm had made Harry’s hand solid and callused. Their palms came together and Louis threaded his fingers between Harry's. He curled them and squeezed as hard as he could, making veins and tendons rise on the back of his own hand while his forearm muscles rippled.

Harry whistled. “Not bad at all, Monster.” He lowered their hands to his knee, and their palms fell apart, open to the sky, fingers still laced together. He bumped his shoulder against Louis’ and then relaxed, their skin barely touching.

Louis shivered in the rapidly-cooling air. He could feel his pulse beating in the webbing of his fingers, could feel the heat radiating off of Harry. He felt nailed in place.

The sky had turned a murky purple-green under a thick, dark grey blanket. Heaven’s cosmic bruise splashed out in front of them as cows mooed in the distance and the corn stalks scraped against each other.

“Storm’s coming.” Harry shuddered and rubbed his arm with his free hand. Louis followed the movement and watched as big goosebumps crawled up Harry’s skin.

Louis moved and then hesitated. It’s OK, he won’t mind, he’s chilly. He leaned against Harry’s shoulder, and when he didn’t move, Louis slipped his left arm around his waist. Harry sank and draped his arm across Louis’ back.

Doc’s body was a safe, heavy pressure and Louis’ eyes closed for just a moment. He tasted static in the air.

A jagged flash carved its way through the sky in the distance, ushering in a long, low rumble that traveled across the pole barns and retention ponds, the rows of soybean and corn.

Harry jumped and his hand slipped. He dug his fingers into the slick skin of Louis’ back. Louis flinched when he rubbed against the thick scar on his shoulder. Harry’s hand fell away and he cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“No, please…please don’t…” Louis felt like he was picking his way across a river, stone by stone. If he chose the wrong words, if his foot slipped, he’d be washed downstream. “Don’t pull away, I mean. It’s OK.”

Harry dragged the pad of his thumb over the scar and twisted his neck to see it. “It doesn’t look too bad. Can tell you took—”

Fuck it. Now or never.

“I can’t lose you, Harry.” His stomach leapt. A wall of silver droplets hurtled toward them and he hoped his words hadn’t been carried away by the crashing wind.

“What?”

“Harry! I’m screwed up, fucked up!” Louis pulled him closer, raising his voice to be heard. “You’re messed up, too. We both are. But I can’t… I need you to stay. You’re the only one who gets it. All of it.”

“Harry?” His voice was solid, and a smile spread across his face, making a deep dimple show.

“Styles, Doc, whatever!” Shit, was that the wrong word? Was a name going to ruin it all?

Fat raindrops stained the deck, spreading into dark circles. Harry squeezed Louis’ shoulder and turned to speak in his ear. “Louis Tomlinson. Louis, Lou.” His words were infused with pecans and peaches and each syllable rolled around in his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere. And yeah, I’m fucked up, too. I…I need help.”

Louis nodded. “We both do.”

White lightning illuminated their faces for a brief moment and the sky groaned, clapped, and broke open. Hard rain pelted them, jumping against the deck in an angry dance. Water traveled in rivulets down their faces. “Fuck!” Harry said. He shook his hair, spraying them both.

Louis leaned back and shook his own head. “Let’s get inside before we get soaked.” He stood up, tugging at Harry’s hand, firmly clasped in his own. “Aw, shit. We’re already soaked.”

They ran for the house, bare feet splashing in the puddles that had formed on the bowed planks. They opened the sliding doors to the kitchen and dashed inside, both giggling. Louis shoved the doors closed and panted.

When he turned around, he found Harry sopping wet, dripping all over the floor. Louis wasn’t any better, his pants clinging to him like a second skin. He brought a fist to his mouth, trying to quiet himself. He failed, and his giggling turned into a rich, full laugh that made his stomach hurt. “Oh God, we’re a mess.”

“I believe this is what you call the drowned rat look.” Harry laughed and shook his whole body, hair fanning out, making water hit the walls and ceiling. “I’m taking off my pants.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Louis said, still laughing. “Me, too.” He dropped his wet pants on the floor and walked towards his bedroom, his feet slapping against the tile. He looked over his shoulder to see Harry peeling his pajama bottoms off, hopping on one foot. “Gonna change. Meet me on the couch for a movie?”

“I’ll make the popcorn if you give me a few minutes,” Harry dropped his clothes on the floor. “Hey, Louis?”

Louis paused, a smile still on his face. “Yeah?”

“‘Harry’ sounds good, nice even, but…”

“Mm?” A heat crept up Louis’ neck and ears and he shifted on his feet. He suddenly felt very naked with only his briefs on.

Harry held Louis’ gaze and pointed. “You're still the only one who gets Doc. And Monster? That’s…” He tapped his chest twice and then flattened his palm over his heart. “That’s still just for me.”

A realization sparked just beneath the surface of Louis’ skin and his whole body ached. One, two, in. He held his breath. Three, four, out. “I know, Harry.” He nodded, smiled, and then walked away. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Harry. Oh God, I know.”


	4. Fall, Again

**September 2015**

“Hey.” Louis spooned Harry and pulled him closer.

“Shh, too early.”

“Harry, dick or finger?” Louis pressed against him.

“Too early for either,” Harry said, pulling the sheet over his head. Behind him he heard Louis gasp, and then the sheet was gone and a rush of cool air covered Harry’s skin. He pawed at the bed, searching for the cotton fabric. “I want to sleep!”

The bed sagged and shifted as Louis got up. Harry could tell by Louis’ choppy footsteps that he was still stiff from sleep. “Look at that sunrise. Nice of Niall to loan us the lake house, yeah?”

“Why’re you talking?” Harry glared at Louis’ naked back, his gaze running from his head to his feet with a brief pause at the curve of his butt. He pulled the sheet up and rolled over, wrapping himself in it. His voice came out muffled and raw from behind the crisp, white cocoon. “You know we left the military, right? And we can sleep in? You know this is our last week of freedom, right? Sleep.”

“Aww, Doc, so cranky.” There was a shuffling noise, and then a pen scratching. Louis’ voice was steady and quiet. “Let me do my morning pages while I’m up.”

“Yeah.” Harry found a gap in the cloth and peeked at Louis under heavy eyelids.

He sat on the bed with his knees bent, sleep-damp hair clinging to the edges of his face. His hand moved rapidly across the page. The bare picture window behind him acted as a frame and the early dawn light threw light purple-grey shadows over his body. The clouds behind him were stained blue and pink; the heady scent of pine and the dry scent of peeling birch bark wafted through the room.

Harry was silent, giving Louis his space. He wrote three pages as soon as he woke up every single morning. In longhand. Then, when his composition notebooks were full of his secrets, he tore the sheets out and shredded them. The next morning he’d start all over. Day by day, three pages at a time.

Harry had no idea what he wrote and he didn’t ask. It was Louis’ therapist’s idea, and if a day was missed—or two, my God—Monster got grouchy.

When the notebook and pen were dropped on the floor, Louis tugged at the sheet. “Let me in.”

After some giggling and pulling, he crawled in next to Harry. He lifted the fabric high into the air so it ballooned over them. It drifted down loosely, covering them from head to toe. Louis and Harry faced each other, knees and foreheads touching, their torsos curled with room between them. This was Harry’s favorite part of the morning, when they were wrapped up in each other’s breath and space.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah, you gonna meditate later?”

Harry yawned and nodded. “Before we go to the festival.” He reached out and ran his fingers over the letters inked into his lover’s skin. It Is What It Is. “This is healing nicely.”

“Yours too,” Louis said. Harry sighed as Louis’ fingers spread over the butterfly on his torso. The heat from his fingertips seeped into Harry’s skin and he reveled in it, in his touch. They’d gotten the tattoos together just over a month earlier, in a sort of celebration of being together for six months.

“You still wish you’d waited?” Harry asked. He clarified, “Until tomorrow, I mean?”

Louis took a deep breath. “No, already have the pain of an IED and a drugging to remember.” He laughed softly. “Don’t need tattoo pain to remember, too. Let’s go for something more fun.”

“Told you you’d want it healed by then,” Harry said. He loved that he’d won this argument. The tattoos weren’t just about being together; they were about being a little less fucked up, together and separately. “And it didn’t hurt that much.”

Louis nuzzled into Harry and kissed him. He stretched his neck and sighed, willing Louis to stay there. “Speaking of ‘something more fun,’ you bring the condoms?” Louis’ words buzzed against the thin skin of Harry’s throat.

“Do I ever not?”

“I’ve got news,” Louis sang. He lightly scratched at the skin below the butterfly.

Harry groaned and shifted his hips a bit. Tommo’s touch always felt new, every single time. New and yet safe, familiar, like home. “It’s not news, you woke me up with dick or finger.”

“Don’t need them.”

Harry opened his eyes and shook his head, making Louis pull back to look at him. The light under the sheet was milky and Harry felt safe, secreted away. “You don’t want to use them anymore?”

Louis grinned. “Finally got my last set of test results. Don’t need them.” He ran his fingers over Harry’s sharp jawline and kissed him, nipping at his lower lip. “Thanks for waiting.”

Harry rubbed his hand back and forth over Louis’ shoulder. I, you, we—all needed time. What was a few more months? Oh my God, I’m going to get all of you, every last inch of you, finally. Keeping those thoughts private, he looked at Louis and a slow smile spread across his face. “We are going to save so much money.”

A loud laugh erupted from Louis and Harry smiled wider. He’d made that happen, that sound was because of him. “Always so practical.”

Harry pulled Louis against him and kissed his shoulder. He dropped his lips to his ear. “More money for cookies. And notebooks.”

“And meditation chimes.”

“Singing bowls, brought those, too.” Harry kissed Louis one more time, rolled onto his back and pushed the sheet off their faces. He stretched, really pushed into it, tightening all of his muscles and then relaxing. He sat up, planting his legs on the floor. “Speaking of, guess I should meditate.”

“Naked?”

“I’ll put on some sort of bottoms. Feel weird meditating naked in Niall’s house.” Harry looked at Louis over his shoulder and smirked. “I’ll come back to bed when I’m done.”

“Actually, can we wait until tomorrow?”

Harry leaned over and held a hand against Louis’ forehead, then pinched an ear. “You feeling OK?”

Louis shook off his hand and propped himself up on one elbow, looping his other arm loosely around Harry’s waist. His hand rested against the inside of Harry’s thigh and he held his gaze. “Just wanna wait.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. “Tomorrow? You sure that’s gonna be OK?”

Louis pursed his lips. “I’m not going to lie. I’m a little afraid that I’ll forget what you need. Like, I’m afraid that I’ll…”

“Be selfish?”

“Yeah.” Louis dipped his head, looked away. “I really don’t want to be, you know.”

“I know. You aren’t.” Harry looked out the window, where the sun was finally stretching its fingers through the sky. Water rippled on the lake, pools of orange and red bouncing on the surface along with a few loons. Two years. “What if I’m the one who… What if I can’t…” Harry waited. Louis would understand. He would know.

“Don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.” Louis shrugged and bit Harry’s hip, then drummed his fingers against his skin. “We’ll be together. Good or bad. Together.”

He knew. Before the explosion, before Minnesota, before that January morning when Harry woke up to Louis kissing the back of his neck—Louis _always_ knew. Harry wrapped his fingers around Louis’ and squeezed. He lifted their hands to his mouth, rotating their wrists. He kissed Louis’ pulse point, the center of his palm, and his thumb. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

 

**The Next Day**

“Did you have a nightmare last night?” Louis pressed against Harry’s back and reached around, putting his hand against Harry’s heart. He tucked his chin into the crook of his neck, which smelled sweet from the nighttime heat.

Harry shook his head, making his hair brush across Louis’ cheek. It was just long enough to start curling at the ends, and some strands clung to the nape of his neck. “I don’t think so, why?”

“You thrashed a little, kicked my legs.” A kiss to his shoulder.

“I don’t remember. Maybe.” Harry rubbed a heel against Louis’ shin. “Been a while.”

“Yeah.” Louis took in the salty taste of Harry’s skin and sighed. Morning pages, meditation, breakfast, clean teeth—all taken care of. Now all that stretched in front of them was a long day with no responsibilities.

“Hey, we were like this in January.”

Louis smiled into Harry’s back and kissed him again to hide his laugh. He fixed his voice. “We were.”

“When I woke up and you were kissing me.”

“Mm, you had a nightmare then, too.”

Harry’s voice dropped and he dragged his fingers over Louis’ arm. “Yeah, that was a bad one.”

That night it had snowed, just a bit. It had been weeks since Harry’d had a nightmare, but he’d gone to bed early with a headache. Louis couldn’t sleep, had been reading on the couch when he heard Harry arguing with ghosts. He tiptoed to the doorway, pushing it open just a bit. “Harry… Styles…” When that didn’t wake him, Louis resorted to the word he knew would. “Doc,” he said in a flat, even tone.

A gasp and Louis was sitting next to him, rubbing his back, giving him water. He fell asleep on the covers next to Harry, like he had a few other times since that night in August when he’d taken Doc home drunk.

Louis had woken facing the expanse of Harry’s back. Sunlight streamed through the frost-clung windows, the cold winter light reflecting off the fresh coating of white. Louis knew without looking that the snow would have a thin layer of ice on top, a layer that crunched out in circular plates when you walked over it, revealing the powder beneath.

His eyes traveled down the blanketed line of Harry’s side, and he held his breath before placing his arm over Harry’s hip, letting his hand dangle in midair. He waited, and when Harry didn’t wake, he relaxed. The weight of his arm sank into the down comforter. When Harry did wake up, maybe he’d just think Louis had rolled over by accident. Or maybe he’d like it and stay that way. Louis hoped so.

After daring to touch Harry, Louis watched the room grow brighter as the sun rose higher. He wished the sun would stop moving, stop time, let him stay in this moment longer. Eventually Harry roused, then he’d heard him whisper. “Lou? Lou.”

Fuck, he woke up. Louis didn’t answer, hoped his breathing stayed steady. Harry scooted back under the covers, just enough. Louis’ eyes flew open. When Harry tangled his fingers in Louis’, his stomach flipped.

Harry pressed their hands loosely against his chest.

In that moment, Louis realized he was not breathing. Another thought quickly chased that one: neither was Harry.

Maybe if Louis couldn’t see, his dick would quit twitching. If he couldn’t see, he could tell himself Doc was actually sleeping, too. Harry’s breathing became slow as he fell back asleep. Louis tried to copy him, inhaling and exhaling with closed eyes. If he was sleeping when Harry woke up—when Harry left the bed—he wouldn’t have to hide his disappointment.

Louis pulled himself out of the memory. “Tell me what happened, again.”

“I woke up and you were like this, cuddling me.” Harry threaded his fingers through Louis’ hand where it rested on his chest.

“That’s how it happened?”

“You know that, you must’ve done it by accident, rolled over while we were sleeping.”

“Must’ve,” Louis murmured.

Harry turned his head a bit, looked at Louis out of the corner of his eye. “You’re being funny this morning. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just like hearing you tell the story.” Like hearing you tell your little white lie.

Louis had waited, holding himself in Harry’s space. The scent of the laundry detergent he used on his sheets. The stack of books on his nightstand, the glass of water from the night before. A pile of laundry in the corner, next to the hamper, but not in it. All military training forgotten.

But finally, Harry truly woke up. He moved. It was slow, could have been blamed on sleep. But then he’d started to pull away.

Louis had pressed against him hard. Held him there. Please don’t go, we both know what this is. Please. Louis kissed his shoulder, softly enough it could be considered a mistake. Harry froze. Shit, mistake, it was a mis—

"Lou?" It wasn’t even a whisper. It was barely a trace of speech.

Louis replied in the same way. "Mm?"

Harry murmured, "You awake?"

"Mm."

"You know, you're cuddling me."

"Mm hmm."

Harry broke.

His body relaxed completely, and he rolled his head forward, revealing himself. Louis took it as a request. He kissed the nape of his neck, the flat of his shoulder blade, that tiny curve right behind his ear lobe. “You OK?” he’d whispered.

Harry hadn’t spoken, but he didn’t need to. He’d nodded his head instead. It was everything Louis had wanted, hoped for.

Needed.

“So, that day,” Louis said, biting Harry’s back, “you woke up, I was cuddling you, and I kissed you?”

“Yep,” Harry said in a crisp voice. Louis licked his lips and kissed Harry’s spine. Another wet kiss and Louis was giggling. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Louis slipped down a few inches for another kiss. A trail was left across Harry’s back, as Louis worked his way to his waist. He loosened his fingers from Harry’s grasp and slid his hand down to his hip bone. Louis rolled him onto his back and kissed his ribcage.

“You feel so good,” Harry said, running his fingers through Louis’ hair in an irregular pattern.

“I was awake.”

“Hm?” His eyes were closed, and his head was back, showing the long line of his throat.

Louis smiled and put his chin on Harry’s chest. “I was awake the whole time. I put my arm over you. That was not a sleep thing.” Harry’s hand stopped moving in Louis’ hair. He stared at the ceiling, jaw slack. “But you, you were the one who took my hand in yours. After whispering my name.”

“Oh my God.” Harry covered his eyes with his free arm.

Louis kissed the corner of Harry’s butterfly wing. “You were the one who pressed our hands against you. That wasn’t me and that wasn’t an accident. That…” Louis licked Harry’s nipple. “That was you. On purpose.”

“Shit,” Harry whispered. “Shit!”

“Are you mad at me?”

“You were awake. The whole time?”

“Yeah…I’d been trying to figure out how to tell you… I thought maybe you liked me—but then we were such good friends and… When you moved to get up, I had to do something.” Louis grinned. “So I kissed you.”

Harry shook his head under his arm. “You…fucker.”

Louis laughed. “At your service.”

Harry let his arm fall heavily against the bed. He tapped Louis’ back. “Come here.”

Louis stretched his body alongside Harry’s and tucked his head into the spot made for him. He threw a leg over Harry, his cock pressing against the crease of his thigh. He kissed him, tasting mint toothpaste. “Sorry?”

“But I…I whispered your name, when your arm was on me. And you said _nothing_.” Harry searched Louis’ blue eyes, questioning. “Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

It was too much. Louis tore his gaze free and looked at Harry’s butterfly tattoo. He traced his fingers over its black body. “Was afraid you wanted me to move my arm.”

“Afraid, but willing to kiss me?”

“Only after you took my hand.” Louis walked his fingers up Harry’s chest and tapped the space over his heart. “I figured then that I could.”

“God…”

“I had waited so long. Was so afraid of fucking everything up.”

Harry started laughing. “I can’t… You knew! You asshole!”

“Hadn’t you ever thought…?”

Harry exhaled sharply, pulled Louis tighter against him. He nuzzled Louis’ hair and inhaled. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The room fell silent, and Louis could see Harry’s pulse in his neck. He rested his thumb along the vein. _Tu-tum, tu-tum, tu-tum_. Just below it there was a slower one, _du-dunk, du-dunk_. “Hey Doc, can you feel your heartbeat in your thumb?”

“Yeah, that’s why you don’t use it to check for pulses.”

“Ah.” Louis felt both beats blend together into one irregular tempo. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you, too.” Harry groaned. “But I can’t believe you lied for so long.”

“Could’ve been longer!” Louis said. “And you lied too! Pretending you’re innocent!”

“Let’s change the subject!” Harry declared with a laugh.

“Not fair!” Louis moved swiftly and pinched Harry’s side at just the right spot.

Harry broke into a fit of giggles, twisting and bending into Louis. He reached for the inside of Louis’ thigh—his ticklish spot—but he clamped his leg down hard to stop him. Harry panted, “Stop, stop, I can’t breathe!”

Louis beamed and slowed down his hand, readjusting himself so he was flat on his back next to Harry. He stroked his nails against the top of Harry’s thigh, waited for him to catch his breath. “Two years ago, did you ever think this would be happening?”

Harry shook his head and laughed. “Shouldn’t laugh, it’s not funny, but no. I just wanted out of there.” He brushed his fingers over Louis stomach and turned serious, quiet. “You’re still nervous.”

Louis shrugged. “Little afraid of freaking out.”

“I am, too.” Harry rolled onto his side and kissed Louis’ forehead, his lips warm. “But we can stop if one—or both—of us need to. And we’ve done this before.”

But not this, not exactly this. Surely Harry knew that. Louis grabbed at his hip, pulled at him. A nod of understanding, a smile and a sigh, and then Harry rolled over onto him. Yes, this… Harry’s full weight, Harry rocking into him, Harry’s hands in his hair. Louis closed his eyes, groaned and rubbed his hands restlessly over Harry’s hips as he took over. This was what he needed.

After that January morning—after the oh my Gods and the kissing and the touching and the are you sures—they’d spent every evening in Harry’s room. Their room. Wrapped around each other, whispering together.

But Louis had still been hesitant and unable to voice why.

About a month later, Harry came to bed later than normal, a paper bag in his hand. “I have only had one glass of wine. I am not drunk.”

Louis put his book on his lap and his hands behind his head. “I am not drunk either.”

“Right. So.” Harry paced in front of the bed while Louis watched him. He waved the bag around and gestured between them. “I know what this is. I know I am not a distraction.”

“Well, sometimes you’re a distrac—”

“You know what I mean.” Harry stopped and narrowed his eyes. “You know.”

Louis nodded and spoke carefully. “Maybe.” Of course he knew. He’d only been talking with his therapist about it for three sessions in a row. I used sex to forget. What if I can’t give? What if I can’t remember how? What if I have sex with you in the room, and not _with you_?

It would ruin them. It would destroy Louis.

As if reading his mind, Harry said, “I’m not them. You’re not who you were then. I will wait, but…” He walked to Louis’ side of the bed, pulled open his nightstand drawer and dumped the contents of the bag in it. A box of condoms, a bottle of lube, and several washcloths. He put his hands on his hips. “Let me be clear: I’m ready. I have no worries.”

Louis gaped at him. “I think… I might need—”

“A little more time. I know. And when you don’t, there you go,” Harry had closed the drawer firmly and kissed Louis for so long it had made him breathless. “There _we_ go.”

And now, Harry kissed him the same way. Fingers at his jaw, lips persuasive. Pulling back, taking a breath, and then reappearing somewhere else. He kissed and then sucked on a spot along Louis’ jawline, the spot that always made him feel hollow.

Harry hadn’t shaved in a few days, and the drag of scruff made Louis’ flesh hum. He was so overwhelmed he needed to close his eyes.

Harry traced a path along Louis’ tattoo and then tongued against the dip at the base of his throat. Of course he’d go for that spot, knew exactly what he was doing. Louis’ hips bucked. “Fuck. That’s…”

“I know.” Harry stroked his chin across Louis’ chest, making him shiver. He bit the soft skin on the inside of his arm. He slid down his body, grinding his own cock into the bed. He traced circles and swirls against Louis’ torso with his tongue.

Louis felt raw, entirely exposed. Harry was taking care of him, like he had the year before, and the year before that.

His shoulders finally relaxed into the mattress. He let go, surrendered himself, let his hands roam across the angles of Harry’s back. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Louis bent a knee and dug his heel into the sheets, rocking up into Harry. Harry used his hands to lock his hips down, nosed along the side of Louis’ dick, which lay hard and full against his stomach. He tasted his skin, inhaled. “You smell amazing, Lou.” When he spoke, Louis’ dick jumped against Harry’s cheek.

“Har, I… God. If you—” The tongue swirling around the head of his cock made him jerk. Both heels dug into the mattress and he scooted backwards up the bed. “No, I—if you—stop, please.”

Harry moved away, and pressed his open hand across Louis’ cock, holding it against his stomach. “Want to stop? You OK?”

“No, yes. I’m OK.” Louis caught his breath and nodded. “I’m too OK. I am so fucking wound up right now.”

Harry laughed and flopped onto his back, arms open. “Well, that’s good.”

“Where’s the stuff?” Harry pointed and Louis crawled on his hands and knees across the bed, his cock bouncing. Harry reached out and brushed his fingers against him, which made Louis freeze and moan. “Harry, please, I need to breathe. Manhandle yourself.”

He dropped his hand and laughed. “Not my fault.”

“Pretty sure it is.” Louis grabbed the bottle of lube and the stack of washcloths and moved next to Harry, who was stroking himself easily, loosely. His free hand was already waiting. Louis propped himself up on his left elbow and put a single pump of lube in Harry’s palm before tossing the bottle next to the pillow. Louis dipped three fingertips into the small pool and rubbed them against his palm, warming it.

He wrapped his hand around Harry’s cock and started working slowly. It had taken a while for the two of them to figure out exactly how much lube worked for Louis’ ability to grip and Harry’s sensitivity level. Now they had it down to an art. And they had an unspoken agreement that if Harry needed more pressure, he’d add his own hand over Louis’.

Harry wiped his hands on a washcloth and put it to the side. “Exactly right,” he said.

Louis draped half of his body over Harry’s. He kissed along his hairline and licked the whorl of his ear, which made Harry giggle. “Tickles.”

He pulled harder on Harry and his laughter turned into moans. Harry turned his head to the side, and Louis pressed his lips against his pulse. Fingers skimmed over Louis’ knuckles, gently caressing him. “Can, you know,” Louis said into Harry’s neck.

Harry shook his head the tiniest bit. “That’s not it, just wanna feel your hand.”

Louis kept up a lazy tempo, twisting and pulsing his fingers occasionally. He nibbled at Harry’s neck, causing a bruise to form. Harry rocked his hips until they found a comfortable rhythm. Louis rolled Harry’s nipple between his teeth, tugging at it.

He let go and rested his cheek on Harry’s ribcage. His chest rose and fell and his ab muscles fluttered as his hips did. “Did you know your butterfly wings beat?”

“Hmm?”

Two wet kisses to the points of the wings. “When you breathe. It moves.”

“It’s alive?”

Hell yes, it’s alive. We’re alive. Louis tightened his fingers around Harry as hard as he could. “I need the lube again. You OK?”

Bent knees and tilted hips answered. Louis held out his fingers and Harry pumped lube over them. He rubbed them together and slid along the puckered skin behind Harry’s balls, along the crack of his ass. Harry took a deep breath, held it, and nodded.

Louis shifted and sat up, one leg folded and pressed against Harry’s waist, the other stretched out. “Need a different angle,” he said.

Really, he wanted to watch.

Harry’s arms were bent, his hands near his face, one hand brushing against his cheek. Even though his eyes were closed, he was turned toward the picture window. The sun pouring through it made his skin glow.

“Mm, feel good,” Louis said while he rubbed the pad of his finger around Harry’s rim. He moved back and forth slowly. Every once in a while he’d press right against it, just a little firmer.

Louis rested his head on his own shoulder and watched. Waited.

Harry bit his lower lip. An invitation. Louis leaned forward and kissed the inside of his thigh. With his eyes still closed, Harry nodded and sighed.

Louis pushed the tip of his finger inside and stilled himself, letting Harry breathe and settle. Another nod, another push. They danced like this, back and forth, until Louis felt him completely relax. He curled his finger, moved in and out. “Hey,” Louis finally whispered. “You feel really good.”

Harry turned his head and blinked, relaxed, easy. “You do, too.” He nodded again, and Louis withdrew. After getting more lube, he inserted two fingers. He used his other hand to stroke his own cock, barely touching himself.

They read each other, nods and sighs and grazing thigh kisses standing in place of words, until Harry took in three fingers and fell apart. Between moans and thrusts he finally said, “Lou, please.”

Louis removed his hand and knelt between Harry’s legs. “Um,” he pursed his lips and scrunched his nose. “I have no idea how much lube to use, since the condom usually has some…”

Harry pushed himself up so he was propped on his elbows. His head bounced from side to side as if doing mental calculus. He shrugged and smiled so widely his dimples showed. “I don’t know. Twice as much? To be safe?”

Louis held out a palm and Harry counted, putting on an accent. “Vun, two, two pumps. Three, four! Ha, ha, ha!” He threw back his head, his mouth open, his shoulders lifting up and down.

“Are you seriously doing _Sesame Street_ ’s Count von Count voice to lube pumps?”

Harry shrugged. “Why not? Five, six, seven, seven pumps! Ha, ha, ha!”

Louis looked at his own dick. “He’s being ridiculous, and you’re still hard. What the fuck.”

“Eight! Eight pumps!” Harry shouted, his voice artificially deep. When he spotted Louis’ dropped jaw, he brought his voice back to normal. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what just came over me.”

“Let’s pretend that didn’t happen,” Louis said, slicking himself up.

“Until next time at least,” Harry said seriously, lowering himself onto his back again.

Louis rolled his eyes and laughed. He held the base of his cock and took a long, deep breath before lining himself up against Harry. He closed his eyes and bumped against him, waiting for Harry to move just a bit.

Oh God, oh God. He felt Harry envelop him and it was too much, too soon. Louis braced his hands against the bed near Harry’s waist. He froze in place, taking shaky breaths. One, two, in. Three, four, out. Five, six—

Legs wrapped around Louis’ thighs and pulled him hard, making his body rock. His arms buckled briefly and he gasped.

“Wait, Doc, I…” Immediately Harry stopped, loosening his grip just a bit. Hands rubbed up and down Louis’ chest as they worked together to find a smooth, steady pace.

Blood pumped in Louis’ ears, his breath coming out ragged. His neck went slack, and his head drooped, his hair falling forward. His eyes drifted open and closed. The butterfly moved with him, in and out. A vibrating reminder of life. Rebirth.

“Monster,” Harry sang. He rested his hands on Louis’ shoulders.

His nickname made Louis groan. He had felt Harry in every way, and been felt by him in every way. Quickies, all-nighters, rushed, languid. But this…today was different.

“I’m not sure I can—I’m…” Dammit, he’d wanted to make this last forever, but an electricity was humming under his skin, and Louis didn’t know how much longer he could wait.

A hand snaked between them, and Harry grabbed his dick. “Good, because I can’t really wait,” he said. Simple. Easy. No pretenses.

He pulled Louis’ head toward his chest and arched his back. Louis drove forward, pushed hard against him, then moved only the slightest bit. Knuckles rubbed between them, jerking fast and then slow, too slow, so, damn slow. An uptick in speed, a sharp inhale.

That breath was Louis’ cue. “Harry…”

“Lou, I—” Harry ground his body against Louis, his hips curving, his heels digging into the back of Louis’ thighs. “Oh God, fuck!” Harry’s whole body quivered and shook as warmth and wetness spread between them. Louis relaxed into Harry and rode out his undulations, his own body vibrating with desire.

Harry’s mouth fell open and Louis stroked his bottom lip with his thumb, catching hot puffs of air. He was so goddamn beautiful, and Louis felt a swell of pride that he was the only one who was allowed to witness Harry like this.

Liberated, unrestrained.

When Harry’s eyes finally opened he looked soft, unfocused. He pulled his hand away and wiped it on the sheets. “I couldn’t wait, sorry.”

“Sorry, why?” Louis whispered.

He responded by shifting his hips up again, urging Louis to move. He acquiesced, his skin on fire. One, two, forward. Three, four, back. Harry held his right hand palm-up on the sheets. “Hand,” he commanded. Louis gave Harry his left hand, their fingers intertwining. He pushed it hard against the bed, giving himself leverage. He moved his right hand in a similar position, wondering where Harry’s was.

“This OK?”

Louis tilted his head. What changed, what should he be feeling? It was just Styles and Tommo hot smooth Doc and Monster tight Harry and Louis and Louis wasn’t sure how much longer he could—

Harry’s hand navigated the pathway left by the scar. His fingers drove firmly over the break, from top to bottom. Oh God, Louis squeezed his eyes shut, a prickling of tears hitting his lids.

“Lou, this OK? Touching your—”

“Our,” Louis said sharply.

His entire world shrank down to the space between them. Nothing else. Ground rumbled, blinding light flashed. Wind carried sand and the smell of hot brass. And someone moaned.

Him. He was moaning. “Oh God, Harry.” Harry’s body opened and closed under him and Louis drove into him again and again. I didn’t fuck up, we didn’t fuck up everything even when we were trying so hard to forget, we’re here. This is something good, something safe, something lasting. Just for us like our history and our marks and we are together and he is mine and I am his and we are alive and living and—

_Fuck._

Waves of relief crashed over Louis and his whole body unraveled. He looked down at Harry, who was gazing at him, green eyes clear and bright, whispering, “Yes, Louis, yes.” Still gripping Harry’s hand, Louis collapsed, resting his head on Harry’s chest. Harry slipped his hand free and stroked the hair back from Louis’ forehead.

“Let me stay here, just a little,” Louis said. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“I understood.” Harry nodded into his shoulder, his fingers moved back and forth, zig-zagging across the whole plane of Louis’ back, his touch light. “Ours. It’s OK. We’re OK.”

“Ours. Yes, yes. Ours.”

 

**A Few Days Later**

“Harry? Louis? Want a beer?” Niall called from the kitchen.

“Sure.” Harry said. He sat on the couch in front of the coffee table, shuffling cards. Louis plunked down next to him and took the deck. He started setting up a game of solitaire.

“Lou?”

“Nah, I’m good, thanks.”

Liam crawled around near the TV, setting up an Xbox. “You guys managed to stay here for a whole week without any video games. How’d you do it?”

Harry laughed loudly and Niall entered the room and rolled his eyes. “Li, we need to get you a date.” He waved the bottle of beer toward Harry before giving it to him. “I expect you two to wash the sheets before you leave.”

Harry smirked and said, “If I learned anything in the Navy, it was how to strip sheets and make a bed.” He clinked his bottle against Niall’s. “Cheers, man, and thanks for letting us borrow this place, it’s been a great week.”

“Success!” Liam yelled as the TV screen lit up. “Awesome. I brought some old classics. _Mario Kart_ , baby.”

“How’s my lamb?” Louis asked Niall.

Niall sat sideways in an overstuffed chair next to Harry, throwing both legs over an arm of it. “Mom hated it when I sat on chairs like this as a kid, said it was bad for them. Now I can do it whenever I want! Adulthood!” He laughed and pointed at Louis. “Your _sire_ , you mean. He’s a great ram lamb. Ed’s got really big balls.”

Harry choked on his beer mid-sip. “What?”

“Actually, I guess we should call him your lamb, right, Harry? Isn’t Edward your middle name?” Niall teased.

“How did you ever figure that out?” Harry moved a card from one stack to another. He looked at Louis. “Did you tell him?”

“He didn’t tell me. It was your tax form.” Niall pointed to a card. “Move that one over there.”

Liam laughed and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table. “That’s some fucking spy work. Now what’s this about Harry—er, Harry’s sire—having big balls?”

Niall drank some beer and shrugged. “You damn city folks. When you’re looking for a new sire, you usually pick one with big balls. They tend to be more virile.”

Louis opened his mouth but Harry moved quickly and wrapped an arm around him from behind, clamping a hand across his lips. “Don’t you dare,” he stage whispered.

“OK,” Louis said, his voice muffled. He stacked several cards on the ace, leaving a blank spot. Harry kissed the back of his neck and let go.

Liam tapped the table. “Why haven’t you moved that queen?”

“Hey,” Niall poked Harry’s shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you on the farm.”

“You know I’ll help out on the days I don’t have classes.”

“You both ready to start school?” Liam asked, finishing up a stack. “Yeah! Look at that! Did you see that, Lou?”

“I saw it,” Louis said, looking at Harry. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to starting at The U.”

“You know how you know you’re in Minnesota, Harry?” Liam started counting out the cards for another game of group solitaire.

“The snow? The Jello-O salad?”

“Sure, and everyone you know went to ‘The U.’ Like. Everyone.” Liam rapped on the table. “Hey, change of subject! I’ve got a question for you two. Actually, _we_ have a question for you two.”

Niall started laughing and rubbed his face. “Oh God, you’re gonna ask.”

Harry looked at Louis, who shrugged and said, “Shoot.”

“When did you two become official?”

“Late January,” Harry said.

Niall swung his legs off the arm of the chair and pounded them on the ground so he was sitting up straight. He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Like, after January fourth?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, running his hands through his hair. “Late January, why?”

Niall squealed and stomped his feet on the ground. He held out a hand. “Pay up, sucker!”

Liam groaned and fished his wallet out of his back pocket. Louis looked at them both. “What the fuck? You bet on us? How much?”

“What was the bet?” Harry leaned against Louis, enjoying the scene in front of him.

“Twenty bucks on whether you’d get together within six months or within a year after you came up here on July Fourth.” Liam slapped a bill in Niall’s hand and shook his head. “I’ll win the next one.”

“The next one?” Louis looked from one man to the other. He turned his head toward Harry, his mouth agape. “Can you believe this?”

“This is great!” Harry said, giggling. “What are the other bets?”

Niall counted the bets on his fingers. “When you’ll move to the city, when you’ll get engaged—”

“Which one of us gets the first best man speech,” Liam added with a nod.

“When you’ll have kids—”

“And how many kids!”

“Kids?” Harry patted Louis’ thigh. “Have we talked about kids?”

“Mm, not yet, not really.”

“Did you hear that, Ni? I’m changing my bet.”

“How do I get in on these bets?” Harry asked.

Louis smacked Harry’s leg. “Don’t you dare!”

“Wait! We made another bet. Remember?” Liam looked at Niall and then to both Harry and Louis. “Which one of you made the first move?”

“That bet was his idea,” Niall said coolly. “Get mad at him.”

Harry buried his face into Louis’ shoulder. “Oh God, your friends.”

“They’re our friends, we’re stuck with them.” Louis pushed against Harry with his elbow. “I’d say…neither, really. We both did.”

Liam leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “Listen, Harry, tell me the truth. Did you make the first move?”

“You bet on Harry?” Louis asked. “Not me? Your oldest friend!”

“Exactly why I didn’t bet on you. You’re stubborn, and stupid.”

Harry rolled his head toward Louis and nodded sagely. “He’s got you there.”

“Aw, man,” Louis made a move to get up from the couch. “I’ll leave the three of you here, where are the car keys?”

Harry grabbed Louis’ waist and pulled him onto the couch. “What did you just say? ‘We’re stuck.’ That includes you!”

Louis tumbled back onto Harry, giggling. “It was mutual!”

“OK, OK, enough teasing them,” Niall said. “We really do have a surprise for you both.”

“A nice one,” Liam added.

“Does it involve a bet?” Louis raised an eyebrow, looking at both men suspiciously.

“No, wait here.” Niall scampered to the kitchen. “Don’t peek!”

“I’ll help!” Liam said, running after him.

Harry took advantage of the brief moment of silence to wrap his arms around Louis. He hugged him hard and kissed his neck. “I love you, you know they’re just teasing.”

“I know,” Louis said, speaking quietly. He pressed his cheek against Harry’s hair and rubbed the top of his thigh. Harry closed his eyes, wanting to hold onto the sensation. “Loved being alone with you, but I’m glad they’re here now.”

“This weekend’s gonna be fun. And then the State Fair on Labor Day, right?”

“Yeah, biggest fair in the country!” Louis moved his arm around Harry’s back and pulled him closer. “Will be huge crowds, a little loud.”

“We’ll be OK,” Harry said. “And if we’re not…”

“They’ll understand, if we need to leave.”

“Yeah.”

“Happy university classes to you,” their friends sang. Niall carried a tall, round cake, shuffling slowly towards the table as if afraid of dropping it. Liam had plates, napkins, forks, and a knife. They put the cake on the table and kept singing. “Happy university classes to you…”

Harry’s heart skipped and a small gurgling noise came from his throat. Harry gripped Louis’ knee hard and Louis immediately slid his hand under Harry’s. Lips brushed against his ear and whispered, “You’re OK.”

Harry nodded and took a deep breath, pulsing his hand against Louis. “They’re just sparkler candles,” he murmured.

“Just candles.”

“Happy university classes dear Future Physician’s Assistant Harry and Future English Teacher Louis…” Liam and Niall looked at each other and took dramatic breaths to make up for their rushed line. “Happy university classes to you!” They held the last note and waved their hands in the air as the sparklers burnt out.

Harry let go of Louis’ hand and they both clapped. “Thanks!” Louis said. “What kind is it?”

“Chocolate ice cream cake, ’cause it’s so hot out.” Niall put his hands on his hips, looking very satisfied. “Oh, I got champagne, too! Let me grab it. Don’t think we have champagne glasses…”

Liam sliced a piece of cake and plated it, passing it to Harry. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Li.” Harry cut off a piece of cake with the side of his fork and bit into it. It was silky cold and sweet on his tongue. “Oh, this is good,” he said to no one in particular.

Louis and Liam bickered over how big a piece Louis should get. Harry sat back and watched, a soft smile spreading across his face. Their week alone together had been exactly what they needed, but watching Louis laugh and joke with his oldest friend, his tongue loose and easy…

It was like Harry had a bit of his Louis back. The Louis who’d schemed to get the most MRE cookies.

The Louis he knew before things got hard.

And Harry finally felt like he had a bit of himself back, too. The piece that wanted to help others heal.

The absolute best part? They had created new lives for themselves and each other. One made up of all of it, the easy and hard and the good and bad.

Niall came into the room waving mismatched mugs in the air. “Couldn’t find champagne glasses, so mugs will have to do!” He put them down and held the bottle of champagne out towards the couch. “Which one of you wants to do the honors?”

Harry smiled at Louis and tipped his chin. “You.”

Louis stood up and swung his arms gently in front of him. “Gotta warm up, you know.” He took the bottle and examined the cork, then popped it, nice and easy, champagne spilling over the edge of the bottle.

“Hey, that’s a nice brand,” Liam said to Niall as Louis filled up their glasses. “You went all out!”

“Or maybe he stole it,” Harry said, winking.

Niall held up his mug. Best Dad Ever. “A toast,” he said. The rest of them lifted their mugs in the air. “To friendship and good grades.”

“Cheers!” They tapped their mugs together and took sips.

“I’d like to make another toast,” Louis said. He held up his drink and looked at Harry. Harry held his gaze, those stormy blue eyes he knew so well. “To another year!”

“To another year,” Harry repeated softly.

“Cheers!” The four men held their drinks in the air.

Harry sipped his champagne, a pleasant tingling filling his body. He leaned over and kissed Louis’ jaw, right in front of his ear. “To love,” he murmured.

Louis turned toward Harry and nodded the tiniest bit. A secret movement just for the two of them. “To love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and please leave a comment. I'd love to know your thoughts. 
> 
> Here's a [rebloggable photo post](http://gettingaphdinlarry.tumblr.com/post/149009571806/to-give-you-a-hand-to-hold-26150-words) (thank you [@Twopoppies](http://twopoppies.tumblr.com), for putting it together) and @Twopoppies also created some stunning [fanart](https://twopoppies.tumblr.com/post/147546855016/harry-traced-a-path-along-louis-tattoo-and-then).
> 
> While this is absolutely a stand alone fic, if you'd like to read more about Doc and Monster, you can check out several companion fics collected in this series.
> 
> Come visit me on [Tumblr](http://gettingaphdinlarry.tumblr.com/)!


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